A Year in the Life
by BleepBloop95
Summary: 10 years after Rory's graduation from Yale, her whirlwind return to Stars Hollow starts a chain reaction of events that change the lives of the Gilmore Girls forever. TL; DR: Rewrite of the revival.
1. Chapter 1

Rory was stunned. She sighed and dropped the papers on her desk. How did she manage to spend $95,000 in just 9 years? She looked around her 600 sq ft closet that barely counted as a studio. What the hell had she been paying for?

"Fuck…" she whispered.

When her grandparents had revealed that they wanted to give her $300,000 as a graduation gift, Rory was appalled. She had been 22, single, and was going to make decent money following Barack Obama's campaign trail. She wasn't some jobless trust fund kid. But they begged. They begged her to take something, anything! Even her own mother had told her she'd be an idiot to turn it down so, Rory caved. She accepted $100,000 nothing more.

It was a modest nest egg. She'd invest it, or buy some property to make a little money while she worked at her future job at an amazing newspaper. But then the election ended. And it had been a couple of years before she found her feet as a professional journalist but, $95,000? Last week, Rory had proudly packed up her desk and stomped home from her last day at The Wallstreet Journal. 5 years of busting her ass and she barely had anything to show for it. Not a raise, or a slightly roomier cubicle. Those jackwads couldn't even spring for a space heater in their -30° building. Rory knew that her writing could get her a better job in a heartbeat. And even if that took a while, she still had the money her grandparents left her, right?

Right.

Rory and the bank confirmed that she had been wrong, so very, very wrong. The total of her checking and savings account was minuscule $2,438.16. With the $5,000 left from her grandparents, Rory could afford to feed herself and house herself, for about 5 more minutes. Rory flinched as a shadow slinked across her floor. Another mouse? The shadow meowed and Rory rolled her eyes.

"Zsa-Zsa, c'mere sweetie."

The fluffiest white cat known to man trotted over and jumped in her lap. Zsa-Zsa purred as Rory gave her a scratch on the chin. Had she known a few weeks ago that she would be this broke, she probably wouldn't have spent $1,200 on a purebred cat.

"How pathetic would it be to break my lease, run home to my mommy and ask my grandparents for money?"

Zsa-Zsa blinked in response.

Rory nodded. "You're right. I'll stick to grandpa."

Zsa-Zsa hissed and dug her claws into Rory's thighs as her phone vibrated across her desk.

"Ow, ow, ow! Okay, you can go!" Rory's shooed the cat off her lap and picked up her phone.

"Mom! I was just about to call you. What's the haps?"

The line was quiet with the exception of heavy breathing and sniffling.

"Mom, what's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"Something happened."

"To who? Is Luke okay? Is it James? Mom–"

"Rory, it's your grandpa."

––––––

$800 poorer, Rory and Zsa-Zsa touched down in Tweed New Haven airport a few hours later. Seeing her family's faces after sitting in a pressurized tin can for 2 hours was one hell of a relief. James, with the energy only 8-year-old boys could exert, dropped Lorelai's hand and sprinted up to her.

"Woah, Woah, hold on their cowboy. I got precious cargo here!" Rory said, lifting Zsa-Zsa's kennel above his head.

"Did you bring a puppy?" he asked, bouncing up and down.

"No, even better! Meet Zsa-Zsa!" She tilted the grate of the kennel down at him.

James rolled his eyes. "A cat? Lame."

"James, stop being a brat and help your sister with her bags. Thanks."

Rory passed the kennel off to James and let Luke wrap her in a warm hug.

"I missed you, Luke."

"Same here, kid."

Rory let go of Luke and turned to her mom. Her stomach clenched. She guessed she hadn't noticed it before but, her mom was old. Before she knew it she'd be flying back to Stars Hollow for her mom's–

The idea of finishing that train of thought had Rory squeezing Lorelai even harder.

Lorelai planted a kiss on her forehead. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course. How's grandpa doing? And grandma?"

Luke sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Me and James are gonna take the bags back to the truck."

Rory watched them pick up the bags and hurry outside. "Is it bad?" she asked.

Lorelai frowned and rubbed her face. "Let's talk about it at home, kay?"

––––

Rory didn't know who was in the hospital bed in front of her, but she knew one thing for sure. It wasn't Richard Gilmore. At least, it shouldn't have been. The man in the bed was frail and withered. His face was weathered and gray face bones poked out sharply from under his skin. If Rory couldn't hear the steady "beep" from the heart monitoring machine, she was sure that she was looking at a corpse. It shouldn't be her grandpa. But it was.

"How did this happen? " Rory asked as tears began to roll down her face.

Lorelai wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Heart attack."

"But, he's had heart attacks before, he never looked like this."

"He was alone this time, Rory."

Rory covered her mouth in horror. She couldn't get the picture of Richard gasping for breath all alone on his office floor out of her head. She wiped the tears off her face and sniffled.

"But he's getting better right? He'll only have to stay in the hospital for a little longer?" she asked.

"Rory...I. I asked you to fly in so you could say goodbye." Lorelai said.

Rory crossed her arms and bit her lip. It wasn't fair. She didn't even get to know him for 20 years. She was such an idiot. She was so busy screwing up in New York to visit the man who even made it possible to be there. She would barely pick up the phone he called! God, she was such an idiot.

Rory turned around and realized that Lorelai had left her, and what was left of her grandfather alone. She wiped her face again and dropped into the hard plastic chair next to Richard's bed. She gently grabbed his hand. Rory didn't want to say goodbye. She snorted back her tears.

"Gilmore's don't snort, Rory."

"Grandpa!"

Richard smiled at her from under the oxygen mask strapped to his face. He squeezed her hand. "You look like that Kardashian girl in one of those things James keeps showing me."

"A meme?"

"Yes, that. I think I want to see some more of those. They are incredibly funny."

"I can't believe you know who the Kardashians are. James really corrupted you." Rory whispered.

They smiled silently at each other. Richard let out a breath that shook his whole body. "It's good to see you, Rory."

"It's good to see you too, grandpa. Sorry I haven't been around."

"I understand." Richard sucked in a breath of air. "Off in New York City, putting the Gilmore name on the map." Another gulp of air. "There's no shame in being too busy to visit boring ol' grandpa."

Rory was going to start crying again. She had been too busy running the Gilmore name into the ground to think about her family at all. After everything Richard had done for her, she had nothing to show for it.

"Have I ever told you how proud I am of you and your mother? My Lorelais." Richard asked.

"Not really."

Richard looked confused for a moment. He then sighed deeply and smiled. "Well, I am. You've both turned about to be amazing, successful people. There are no better women who could carry on the Gilmore name."

Rory swallowed her tears and pressed her head onto Richard's chest. She wanted to smell the musk of his pipe smoke and tang of his cologne, but all she found was the sour tang of lemony hospital disinfectant. A soft, heavy hand rested on the top of her skull. "Your hair is getting long again." Richard murmured.

Rory sat up and wiped under her nose. "Yeah, been busy. Haven't had time to get a trim."

"It looks nice."

Richard smiled and closed his eyes. "Remind me to tell my nurse to get me a softer bed. Tell her I'll buy the whole damn hospital if I have to."

Rory smiled through her tears. "Will do."

She looked down at her hands and before she knew it, Richard was asleep, barrel chest rising and falling sluggishly. Rory closed the hospital door behind her and found her Lorelai and Luke sitting outside. Luke was glassy-eyed with grief and Lorelai clutched his arm like a lifeline.

"Hey," Rory said.

Lorelai sniffed and smiled. "Hey. How was he?"

"Good, good. We had a nice talk. Yeah. It was good." In an effort not to cry again–she was pretty sure her body was out of moisture anyways– she asked, "Where's James?"

"Mom was feeling a little sick so he volunteered to keep her company."

"Cool."

Rory looked around. The hospital's bright lights hurt her eyes and she swore she could hear every heart rate machine flatline all around the hospital. "Can we go home?"

"Yeah."


	2. Chapter 2

Had it been any other funeral, Rory would have been impressed. The funeral was beautiful. The flowers were tasteful and fragrant. Richard's casket gleamed in the afternoon sunshine. The graveyard was immaculate and manicured, and the Gilmores were the picture perfect mourning family in their black outfits. If Better Homes and Gardens did a spotlight on funerals, Richard Gilmore's would have made the cover. But Rory failed to see the beauty of it all. It all reminded Rory that during Richard's last moments, she looked into his eyes and lied. Her grandfather died believing the sacrifices he made, the money he'd spent, the stress that crippled his heart, had been worth it. During the viewing, Rory couldn't muster the courage to look down.

With red eyes, and slumped shoulders, the Gilmores made their way to Emily's home for the wake. The grand mansion was filled to the brim with bodies draped in black, eating, drinking, and celebrating Richard's memory. Richard's death wasn't the only thing on Rory's mind. Her incredible lack of funds took up a decent amount of real estate. Having spent 2 weeks in Stars Hollow, rent had been due. Like an idiot, Rory had set her rent to be automatically withdrawn after incurring one too many late fees. Now her checking account had a beautiful total of $8.23. Glued to one of her grandparent's leather couches, Rory wondered if any her eggs were still fresh enough to sell to science. She looked up from the bank app on her phone when a voice above her said,

"Whiskey sour?"

"What?" she asked as James stood behind Richard's trusty drink cart.

James shook a tumbler of orange liquid in her face. "Whiskey sour? I just learned how to make it. Mr. Samson said it was pretty damn good."

"What are you doing?" Rory asked.

"I'm helping grandma. She kept saying even I could make better drinks than her maids so I am," he replied with a shrug.

Rory was very sure that an 8-year-old boy serving drinks at a funeral broke so many laws. But she did need a drink.

"Gimme a gin and tonic."

"Cool!"

Luke walked over and furrowed his brows at the scene in front of him. "James, what are you doing?"

"I'm making Rory a drink. Do you want one dad? 'Cause Mrs. Miller says I make a bitchin' cosmopolitan."

Luke closed his eyes and let out a deep breath before pinching the skin between his forehead. "James, go find your grandma before you become a ward of the state. And leave the cart."

James rolled his eyes and dropped a few sprigs of mint in Rory's drink. "Here you go." he wiped his hands on his pants and ran off.

Luke snatched the glass out of Rory's hand. "No drinks for you, you don't deserve it, You're supposed to be the responsible one, remember?" Luke said.

He sniffed the glass before taking a swig himself.

"You're really putting a wrench in my whole 'young woman drowning her sorrows in booze' thing here," Rory replied.

Luke sat down next to her and put a warm hand on her shoulder.

"How you doin' kid?"

"Oh, you know, terrible. I'm so mad. I should be sad because the only grandfather I ever had just died, but I'm too mad at myself! Grandpa would always call me and want to spend time with me, but I kept blowing him off. How could I even think about doing that? I knew this was coming, he had 2 heart attacks for God's sake–"

"Hey, hey, hey. Rory, c'mon. Try that drowning your sorrows in booze thing." Luke said, passing her the glass. "Look, you're never going to feel like you did enough before something like this happens. There's never going to be enough time. Rory, you have to know he was so proud of you. Every dinner we had he could never go ten minutes without talking about a new article you wrote or how your building in Yale was helping inspire the next generation of minds. I don't want you to start thinking that you never coming around killed him or anything like that. He hung on long enough to see you. He loved you, Rory, don't forget that."

Rory looked up at him through her tears and tried to sip her drink. "Great, now it's salty."

Luke chuckled and patted her back. He looked around the room. "Where's your mom?"

"She had a headache so she's taking a nap upstairs," Rory said, wiping the tears off her face. "That was like an hour ago. You should bring her some food, she's probably hungry."

"When is she not hungry?"

Rory gasped. "Are you calling mom fat? I'm so telling her."

"We were having a moment, right? Don't ruin it." Luke replied. "I'll go check on your mom." Luke patted her shoulder and disappeared into the crowd.

Rory sighed and laid back on the couch. She would be fine. Eventually.

The wake wound down and soon guests were asking the maids for their coats. Emily stood at the door, accepting condolences, tearful hugs, and, handshakes. With the last well-wisher gone, Emily let the maids shut the heavy wooden door. She looked around at her empty house, grabbed a glass and filled it with whatever was inside the nearest bottle of liquor before walking outside to the patio. Richard had been mad about it when they had first bought the house. During their marriage, interior design had been her responsibility but Richard had spent months picking out every single stone, flower, and piece of furniture. When a new line of patio furniture was on the market, Richard had always been the first to snap it up. Besides Lorelai, it had, for all purposes, been his baby. She touched the wood of the patio chair that Richard had bought before...before everything. She didn't know if she had the strength to get rid of it. Emily perched herself stiffly in the chair. She didn't know if she had the strength to do anything anymore.

Emily looked at her wedding ring sitting flush against her crepey, liver-spotted skin. She had looked forward to growing old with Richard. Now all she could look forward to was growing even older, alone. She looked up when the patio door slammed against the wall. James looked startled himself.

"Oh! Sorry!" he closed the door behind him. "I didn't mean to open it so hard."

Emily smiled. "That's okay. Come, sit with grandma." She patted the open seat next to her.

James smiled, showing off the gap where his front teeth used to be. "Can I sit on your lap, grandma?"

"Of course. What's the occasion?" Emily teased. "The last time I tried to get you to sit in my lap, you said you were a big boy and big boys don't do that."

James shrugged and folded his long little self into her lap. Emily chuckled and gave him a squeeze. He buried his head into her neck without a word. Emily smiled. It would be a lie to say that she hadn't been afraid of James and Rory loving her less now that Richard was gone. Richard had been what she supposed her grandkids considered fun. Emily was always somewhere in the background, straightening ties or yelling out reminders to wear more sunscreen. Emily swayed back and forth remembering how James felt in her arms as a baby all those years ago. She had missed holding him like this but, babies grew up. She knew the pain well. Emily and James sat in a comfortable silence. Soon, James began to go limp with sleep.

"Grandma," he asked. "Are you okay?"

Emily swallowed. "Yes. Of course I am." she paused for a moment. "Are you okay?"

James tightened his arms around her. "No."

––––––

An hour and a half later, Emily was still there. Luke walked outside and sat next to them. James was completely knocked out, while Emily was more awake than she had ever been.

"Hey," Luke whispered, "Do you mind if we spend the night? Lorelai's not feeling too great."

"Of course, Luke. You know how empty this house can be. I love how much life you three bring here."

"If you like the noise, why don't you hire a few more maids?"

"Ugh! Please!" Emily said with a roll of her eyes. "With my luck, I'll hire another idiot. These people can barely make a bed."

"Or a cocktail?" Luke replied.

"Very so. James made delicious cocktails until you stole him away from me."

Emily looked down and brushed a lock of hair off James' forehead. "He's just like you, you know."

"No kiddin'?"

"He's definitely yours, I mean, look at that nose!"

"Really hitting me where it hurts, Emily."

"I'm just teasing, you know that. But honestly. He really is just like you. He's been following me around like a little duckling all night. Wanting to make sure I was eating, or if I was tired. It reminded me of the time after my hip surgery. You were so lovely Luke."

Luke blushed and scratched his chin. "I was just being a good son-in-law, forget about it."

"Oh yes, let's forget about the time my son-in-law closed his beloved diner down for two weeks and told my maids to go on vacation so he could take of care of both a 3-year-old and drugged up old woman at once. Sure, I won't say another word."

"Alright, alright enough about me. How are you holding up?"

Emily smiled. "I'm fine. Just fine."

"Your legs are probably dead under there, lemme grab him." Luke gently lifted James from Emily's arms before tossing him over his shoulder.

"Luke, my grandson is not a sack of potatoes. Hold him properly!"

Luke shrugged with a smile "I've held him this way his whole life. He's good."

Emily shook her head with a smile "You can put him in–"

"Lorelai's old room and the two of us will take the guest room. Got it."

"Which room did Rory want?"

"She's not here, she had to fly back."

Emily smiled slipped for only a moment. "That's fine. I know how busy she is. It was nice that she came."


	3. Chapter 3

Rory taped the last of her moving boxes shut with a sigh. When she started to pack it became very clear where a good deal of her money had gone. Labels. Designer labels. Nothing Rory owned came from anywhere that didn't have attendants in the fitting rooms. And what the hell for? Rory couldn't remember wearing some of these things more than once or twice. The thought of googling the prices gave her heart palpitations. It took a month and $800 to break her lease after coming back from Stars Hallow. Damn moving companies jacking their prices up for the Fall semesters. Damn college students. Somewhere in the box kingdom that was her apartment, Rory heard her phone ring. "Crap," Rory said as she rummaged around. She really hoped she didn't pack her phone. Rory crawled around on the floor and listened to see if the sound got clearer or more muffled. Several minutes later, she found her phone where she left it. On her bed.

"Hello?"

"Rory!" Emily's chipper voice greeted, "How are you?"

Rory held back a groan.

"Fine. Little exhausted, you know, heavy boxes."

"Oh Rory, it's going to be so nice to have you back home. I missed our Friday night dinners! James is so excited to have you back."

"I mean, I still have to tie up a few loose ends and stuff. Drop off a few resumes."

"Don't you even give that another thought. Taking a break is just what you need. Those fools at the Wall Street Journal have no idea what kind of talent they threw out the door..."

Rory blew a strand of hair off of her forehead. Emily didn't have any eyes or ears in the Wall Street Journal so it was easy to throw the lie of her "firing". It was technically the truth.

"...The ladies at the DAR are going to be ecstatic when I tell them you're back. So far, not one young lady could throw an event like you Rory. Maybe I could convince Renee to let you help out with annual Halloween spectacular. Would you like that?"

No, she would not like that. In fact, Rory would like cutting her foot off with a plastic spoon more than that.

"Hey grandma, sorry to cut you off, but the movers are here."

"Well, alright. I'll let you go. Call me back."

"Will do. Bye!"

With a sigh, Rory crawled up on her bed and tossed her phone away. She sat up as the sound of boxes tumbling down shook the bed.

"Oh no," she said as she looked at the mess. Perhaps buying moving boxes from the dollar store wasn't the best idea. She at least had time to repack everything before the movers came by.

Loud knocks echoed through the apartment.

"This is Acme Moving! Hello?"

–––––

One thing Rory could always admit about Taylor Doose was that the man knew how to throw an event. When Fall rolled around he made sure that Stars Hollow was the place to be. Back when Rory first started working, it killed her to see pictures that April posted of the fun everyone was having in Stars Hollow. Stuck in her cubicle, re-re-re editing her work, she imagined how much easier life would be if she moved back.

Being back in Stars Hollow was a whole different thing. Rory spent the last weeks of September trying to track down the thirty boxes she had shipped back to Connecticut along with her furniture. Ikea or not, she could not afford to toss them. Finding somewhere to hold all her stuff was an experience in itself as well. Lorelai's place was out of the question. Her old bedroom was covered in Fortnite merch and slime, courtesy of James. The garage housed Luke's boat and her mother, the packrat, had managed to stuff Rory's entire childhood in the attic.

Luckily, Lane didn't mind coming to the rescue.

In the basement of what used to be Kim's Antiques, the boxes or Rory's old life found a home.

"How's your mom doing?" Rory asked, wiping a smidge of dust from her forehead.

Lane rubbed her pregnant belly with a sigh. "Well, last year she decided that Busan wasn't holy enough for her and moved to Gangnam near some of my cousins."

"Wait, isn't that the plastic surgery and club city or something?"

"Yep! Every morning, she preaches to hungover 20 year olds with boobs bigger than her head. She's having a blast."

Rory shoved another box behind a pile of old records, vintage band t-shirts, and cymbals.

"Sorry for taking up all the space for the store."

Lane shrugged. "It's for the best. Either I started selling all the Christian soft rock my mom keeps sending me or throw them in the fireplace."

A pair of footsteps came thundering down the basement stairs.

"Mom, someone wants to rent a clarinet!"

"Did you tell them about the loss and damage protection plan, Kwan?" Lane yelled back.

"Yeah!"

Lane turned back to Rory with a smile. "I've taught him well. Wanna watch me up-sell a velvet line case that they 100% don't need?"

"Yes, please."

Lane climbed the basement stairs as fast as 6 months of pregnancy would allow her. Upstairs at Kim's Music Shoppe, Kwan stood behind the register, ringing up a customer.

"So," Kwan said, "That's a 3-month clarinet rental, the loss and protection plan, and beginners sheet music. Is that all?"

"Don't forget about the Teflon carrying case," Lane added.

"I need that?" the customer asked.

Rory browsed the Mrs. Kim approved section of soft Christian rock while Lane did her thing. Being able to see Lane as much as she wanted was awesome. But seeing Lane with her business and kids was a constant reminder that she had crawled back home with her tail between her legs, a certified 30-something failure.

Plus, her mom was not making being back home any easier either. Along with a steaming plate of breakfast, the New York Times want ads were tucked under plate every morning. Luke knew better than that. She was a Yale graduate, her next career move was not going to come from the newspaper.

The contacts she had made the last ten years proved to be worthless. 500+ connections on LinkedIn and no one had the decency to email her a rejection. There was only silence. Terrible, terrible silence. Her inbox stayed empty, her coworkers from the WSJ wouldn't even follow her on Twitter. She had been submitting her resume to every newspaper in the northeast. At this rate, she'd have to start looking for work in California. Or worse, Portland.

When her phone rang, Rory nearly gave herself a concussion with how fast she slapped it to the side of her head. "Hello?"

"Rory! I'm glad I caught you." Emily said.

Rory's shoulders slumped. "Hey, grandma."

"Why haven't you been coming to Friday night dinners?" Emily asked, getting straight to the point.

"I've just been so busy with the move and finding a place for stuff and looking for another job, it's been slipping my mind."

"You see your mother, your brother, and, Luke leave the house every Friday evening in their Sunday best and it slips your mind? Don't give me that."

"Grandma–"

Emily didn't give her the chance to finish "Tomorrow night, you're coming over for dinner. See you then."

The line went dead. Rory took the phone away from her ear and stared at it disbelief.

It was dinner time.

–––––

"Oh-ho-ho. Nice of you to join us," Lorelai said as Rory walked in the foyer.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, rub it in. She cornered me today through the phone! How is that even possible?" Rory replied.

"It's the Emily Gilmore special, my dear. No one ever escapes."

"Are you talking about your mother or a Disney villain?" Luke asked, ushering them to the car.

Lorelai shrugged. "A little bit of both."

"Grandma said that she's going to show us something cool before dinner," James said from the backseat as they turned into Emily's street.

"Cool? Emily Gilmore would never say 'cool'." Rory replied.

"She didn't say it, she texted it. Duh."

Rory was floored. "Grandma texts? Since when?" Rory leaned between the front seats to look at Lorelai.

"When was Grandma replaced by some sort of pod person that texts?"

"Don't think you'll be getting that privilege, she only texts James because she says, and I quote, "Young people don't talk on the phone anymore, Lorelai."

Rory gasped, "Are you implying that I am no longer a young person?"

"Honey, you were born in the 80's. You're geriatric."

"What does that make you, you were born in the–"

"Ah! Don't say it. I'm still 32."

"Gosh Luke," Rory said. "Almost 50 and dating a 32-year-old. Niiiice."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Get outta the car before I turn around and drive us all off a cliff."

"Sounds good to me!" Rory replied.

"Out," Luke said.

Rory stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind her. The four of them stood on the stoop of Emily's home, shivering in the cool air of October. Luke lifted his hand to ring the doorbell when Lorelai stopped him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Ringing the doorbell?"

"Without having the before dinner strategy? Are you insane?"

"Lorelai, c'mon. I thought we already had our strategy or whatever."

"That's when it was just the three of us. Rory's here now, so our equilibrium is outta wack. James, keep being cute. Really pile on how much fun you're having at school. Luke, if worse comes to worst bend over. She told me when she hopped on pills after her hip surgery that you had a firm butt, so really use it."

"Oh my god," Luke said with a shake of his head.

"Rory lay it on thick with how much you missed her. Don't talk about being busy. I'm warning you."

Rory held up her hands. "Fine, fine. What about you? What are you gonna do?"

"Try to keep my mouth shut?"

Luke, James, and Rory stared at her.

"Yeah, maybe I'll bend over a lot tonight," Luke said before ringing the bell.

An unfamiliar maid opened the door and took everyone's coats.

Emily greeted them in the foyer, hand clasped around a glass of wine.

"Rory, how nice of you to join us," Emily said, a cold gleam in her eye.

Rory smiled in a way that she was only sure didn't look like a grimace.

"Shall we go into the living room?" Emily said before turning and walking away.

Lorelai nudged Rory with her elbow "For once, I'm not the problem child. Good going, kid."

They followed Emily into the living room in a single file line. Together, they stopped and stared slack-jawed at the newest painting on Emily's wall.

"Oh wow," Rory said.

"Good god," said Luke.

"Whoa," Lorelai said.

James was stunned into silence.

Emily stood next to the massive portrait of Richard Gilmore that took up the entire wall of the living room.

"Do you like it?" she asked. "I based it off one of my favorite pictures of Richard."

"It's so...big," Lorelai said.

"Of course it is. A smaller portrait would never become him."

James stared up at the portrait walked side to side back and forth. Everyone watched him for a while before Emily asked, "What are you doing?"

"His eyes are following me."

"What?" Emily asked, "That's ridicu–" she walked back and forth. And then side to side. Lorelai and Rory followed.

Emily put a hand to her chest, "Oh my goodness, you're right! I knew I shouldn't have gone with Sandra Babcock's painter! The man's a hack! I'll have to cover it up."

"No, no, no, don't do all that." Lorelai said, "All you have to do is get a giant blindfold. You know, it's never too late to spice things up in the bedroom. Not to say your and dad's bedroom wasn't mega spicy before because here I am. Mmhmm, I'm going to shut up now."

Emily raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "You're back to your nonsensical babbling self. I guess you're feeling better."

"When has she not been feeling better?" Rory asked. She turned to Lorelai in time to see her shaking her head. "Are you sick?"

"Sick is a strong word, right James?" Lorelai replied.

"She's puked so much after our dinners that grandma keeps firing her cooks."

Lorelai gasped. "I can't believe I gave birth to a snitch!"

"And at the end of every dinner, she's so exhausted from puking she has to lie down for an hour," Luke added.

"Not only did I give birth to a snitch, but I married one? I'm about to be one very hot divorcee," said Lorelai.

"God, mom why didn't you tell me?" Rory asked.

"How could she? You're just so busy aren't you, Rory?" Emily said.

"Can we forget about it, please? I'm starving and I can smell the food from here. Let's eat."

"Fine," Emily said before walking into the dining room.

They followed after her and shuffled into their seats around the table. Rory blinked at the empty seat sitting across from Emily. She realized that the last time she had dinner with her grandmother, Richard had been alive. The food she was so looking forward to began to sound unappealing. The maids brought out the dinner. Pot roast with mashed potatoes and carrots for everyone. Except. A maid placed a bowl of thin soup in front of her.

"Excuse me, I think my order got mixed up with someone else's. Can I talk to the manager please?"

The maid looked at Emily, who waved her away. Emily picked up her fork and knife. "There's no mistake. You get organic chicken soup for dinner. Your stomach obviously can't handle any rich food."

"No, it can! It can handle the most expensive food! This is so unfair mom. You're punishing me for being sick, that's cruel, even for you."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Fine." Emily waved over another maid. "Take this soup and bring my daughter a plate of pot roast. Thank you."

"Wow, grandma, thanking the maids. Very progressive." Rory said.

Emily sniffed at her. "Yes. So, Luke, how are things at the diner?" she asked turning to Luke.

After the scalding snubbing, Lorelai leaned over to Rory and whispered, "Remember how I told you not to talk about being busy, try not talking at all. Mom's in a mood tonight."

The rest of the dinner continued the same way. Everyone receiving warm, or as warm as she could be, conversation from Emily while Rory was given the coldest of cold shoulders. The only good thing about being there was how often a maid opened up a new bottle of wine. Rory was on her third glass. Or was it fifth?

It wasn't until Emily was in her 3rd tumbler of scotch that Rory was getting more than an eyebrow raise in response. They had relocated back to the sitting room, a large tarp thrown over Richard's massive portrait. James had tapped out and was sleeping in one of the guest rooms. A maid rolled by with the drink cart.

"Would anyone like a drink?"

Luke shook his head, "I'm trying to get these guys home in one piece. No thanks."

Lorelai waved the idea away. "If I even smell a drink, I'm going to puke." She sat up. "Oh boy." She scrambled off the couch and to the nearest bathroom.

"I better go hold back her hair. Last time I forgot she added it to her mental list of things to divorce me for." Luke said, getting up to follow after her.

Emily huffed. "I told her this would happen. I'll have to tell the maid to bring a bucket into the guest room. I will not be paying to have my heirloom rugs steam cleaned twice in one month." she finished with a smile.

Rory thanked the maid her tall glass of gin and tonic. The idea of asking Emily to float her some money had been rolling around in Rory's head since she came back to Stars Hollow. It had never been the right moment. How would it look, begging for money from Emily when that hadn't seen each other in person since the funeral? But now, Emily was a little drunk, and they had had a decent dinner.

"Grandma," Rory said, looking up at her beneath her lashes, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course Rory, what is it?"

Rory took a deep breath. "I need a favor."


	4. Chapter 4

"Yes?" Rory glanced around at the maids tiptoeing around the living room. "Can we talk in the study?" she asked.

"Of course." Emily gestured to one of the maids, "Bring a bottle of wine to the study."

They walked into what used to be Richard's study. Emily sat in the leather chair and while Rory sat in the seat across from her. Rory wracked her brain trying to figure out a way to beg Emily for money, without sounding like she was begging. The maid that walked in with a cold bottle of wine and Rory gladly let her glass be topped up.

"Well, what is it?" Emily asked.

Rory took a deep breath. "Can you give me the money from grandma Trix's trust?"

There was a moment of silence that stretched so long that Rory near exploded from the tension.

"I don't see why not," Emily said with a limp wave of her hand. "It's been taking up space in my accountant's file cabinet. I'll make an appointment tomorrow and we sort this whole thing out."

Rory sighed in relief before nodding. "That sounds nice. We can have lunch, too."

"That sounds wonderful! There's this little bistro…"

And just like that, everything fell back into place. There was no more sneering or puckered lips, only the Emily she remembered. The Emily who knew Rory had a bright future and would stop at nothing to help her get there. As the night wound down, the flitted from topic to topic, sharing laughs and sweet smiles. Emily glanced at the clock above Rory's head.

"10:30 already? Your mother must be dying to escape. I should let you get home."

Rory nodded and stood. She hung on to the back of the chair as her knees buckled. She guessed she had drunk a bit too much. Despite the amount

"Okay. So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I'll send a car over. Are you going to do anything fun with the money? I always thought it would be so cute if you opened a boutique or a bakery."

"Um," Rory said with a laugh, "I actually need it."

"For what?" Emily asked.

"To live?" Rory laughed. "Living in New York was a little more expensive than I thought and I used up my graduation gift."

Emily said nothing before slowly shaking her head with a snort.

"Of course, of course! Why else would you visit your widowed grandmother, if not to have her clean up your messes again?"

Rory's mouth dropped open, "Grandma, that's not what I'm doing. I've been busy–"

"Certainly not too busy to waste $100,000! Honestly, what have you been doing with the Yale education your grandfather and I paid for? Writing crappy little articles, and quitting your job whenever you feel like it because you think I'll always bail you out?"

Rory fumbled to deny the truth.

"Oh please, did you really think I wouldn't look into your "firing"? You're 32 years old and you quit a job people would kill to have because they didn't pat you on the head and tell you what a good job you were doing? What did you want from them, Rory? A gold star? This is the real world!"

"I know that this is the real world, I'm trying my best!"

"You're not trying you're failing! You have had every opportunity gift wrapped and handed to you and you haven't done a thing with them. Not one thing! You couldn't even graduate from Yale on time, for goodness sake."

"You told me I could drop out, you told me it was okay!"

"Well, I was wrong, Rory. Do you hear that, wrong! I was wrong to coddle you and solve your problems for you. Maybe then you would have turned out to be more than a trust fund baby who has no idea how to survive."

Rory wiped her the tears from her eyes. "You think you know how to survive? You've never worked a day in your life! The hardest work you ever did was chasing mom away from you."

Emily stalked closer to Rory and crossed her arms. "Yes, big bad Emily, chasing away poor little Lorelai. Fine, if that's how you think of me, then fine. But at least Lorelai made something of herself. She didn't come crawling back home, begging for money when things got too hard for her. You're not half the woman she turned out to be. Your grandfather would be so ashamed."

At the mention of Richard, the wine in Rory's stomach turned to acid. "Ashamed of me? Look in the mirror! Mom times her visits because she knows that being around is like being poisoned. You ran every Gilmore out of this house. You don't know how to exist unless you're stepping on someone. I think it's great the Grandpa died before he could watch James grow up and hate you too."

Emily's lips snapped shut. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Rory swallowed around the cotton in her mouth and watched Emily take out a checkbook. She signed her name, tore it out and left it on the desk.

"Here. Write any number you want," she whispered before walking out the study.

–––

After Lorelai's clandestine meeting with the toilet, Luke did his husbandly duty and dragged her to one of the guest bedrooms to relax. Lorelai buried her head under the pillows, not giving a damn if she smeared her makeup on it. She felt the bed dip and peeked up at Luke. She frowned.

"You're making that face," she said.

"What face?" he asked.

"The 'face'. The 'I'm really worried about you but I can't make you do anything about it so I'm going to make this face until you do something about it' face. That face!" she replied.

"Is it working?" Luke asked.

"Kinda."

Luke sighed, "Lorelai."

"Ugh, I know, I know. But I've been so busy. With the money dad left I've been fixing so much stuff up at the Inn, James decided to be some sort of mutant athlete so he's got so much crap going on and Rory's back now so–"

"Hey," Luke said, leaning down to wrap his arms around her, "You realize you haven't been a single mother for, give or take, 10 years right? Whatever James's got going on, I'll take care of it. Michel could run that Inn in his sleep and you know it. Rory's a grown woman, she'll be fine. You need to go to the doctor and figure out what's going or I'll keeping making that face. You're gonna have to bury me with that face."

Lorelai pulled Luke closer and sighed. He was right, yet again. She had been letting things pile up to ignore whatever the hell was going on with her body. She was at the age when things started to fall apart. Emily was still kicking because evil never dies, but her father was as healthy as a man his age could be and still…

Afraid as she was to find out the truth, Lorelai couldn't live in fear of food. She'd never say it out loud, but she loved food a tab bit more than Luke and the kids.

"Okay," Lorelai said, rolling onto her back and pulling Luke down on top of her. "I'll take the day off and drive into town and let them steal a liter of my blood."

"Good. Cause I wasn't kidding about the face." Luke said before they both broke down into giggles.

Lorelai lifted her head for a kiss but Luke pulled back with a grimace. "Puke mouth," he said when he saw Lorelai's confused face. Lorelai grinned and yanked him back down.

"In sickness and health, Danes that's what you promised. Gimme those lips!" she said.

"Fine," Luke said with a grumble before diving in for a kiss. Even with the puke mouth, it was damn good.

"Ready to go home?" Luke asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

"Yeah, I can't sleep here. There is not one US magazine that you can read to me."

"Maybe we should spend the night here."

Lorelai laughed and pushed him off before sitting up. "Don't pretend you don't read them. Let's grab the kids and blow this popsicle stand."

They found James curled up in Lorelai's old room. Lorelai slipped his shoes back on and Luke gently tossed him over his shoulder. Not wanting to wander the mansion looking for Rory, Lorelai went to the kitchen to find a maid.

"Hey, do you know where Rory is?" she asked.

"Oh, Ms. Gilmore took a taxi home about half an hour ago." the maid replied.

Weird. "Oh, okay. I guess I'll just say goodnight to mom–"

"Actually, Mrs. Gilmore wasn't feeling well and went to bed early. She's sorry she couldn't spend the night with you."

That was strange. Lorelai had never known her mother to abandon guests for anything, even if she was the guest. One of Emily's favorite stories was about the night of her birth. She threw a dinner party and didn't head to the hospital until every guest had left.

"Oh-kay, goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Danes." the maid said before turning back to the dishes.

Lorelai took her coat from the maid at the front door and hopped into the car where Luke had buckled James in. Luke looked over from behind the wheel.

"Where's Rory?" he asked as she closed the door.

"The maid said she took a taxi home like, half an hour ago. Did she text you that she was leaving?"

Luke pulled out of the driveway, "I dunno, I left my phone at home."

"What's the point of having a mobile phone if it's never mobile?"

"To stop my wife from nagging that I needed a phone."

"Oh! Luke that is so going in my "Why I divorced you" journal."

"You threatening to divorce me every 10 minutes is going into my "why I divorced you" journal," Luke replied.

The shrill ring of Lorelai's phone cut off her response. A picture of Rory's smiling face flashed across the screen.

"You know Rory, the deal was to spend the entire night with her. You cheated!" Lorelai said as she answered.

"Sorry! But I got an email about an interview for a magazine in Brooklyn tomorrow morning so I had to run home and pack."

"You okay? You sound a little sniffly. You got your flu shot right?"

"Mom, It's no big deal. I'm just bushed. I ran home and packed a bunch of stuff and then ran back and had to grab a train. My old bones aren't used to this kind of exercise."

"Ugh, you have to stop calling yourself old. I can feel more wrinkles forming. Well, good luck with your interview!"

"Bye mom, tell Luke I said bye!"

Lorelai hung up. "Rory says bye. She got an email for an interview tomorrow so she's on her way to New York. She sounded a little sick, though."

"Did she get her flu shot?" Luke asked.


	5. Chapter 5

Rory peered out of the train window and tried to focus on the darkness blurring passed her and not at her red, blotchy face. A duffle bag of clothes sat under her feet as she clutched her grandmother's check tightly in her hands. Her apartment gone, and her connections down to nothing, Rory called on an old friend. She put the phone to her ear and waited.

"It's midnight, three pregnant women threw up in my office, I almost cracked my head open when my heel broke, and, the sound of this phone woke up both my children who have been up all day with the flu. You better have a damn good reason for calling me or I–"

"Paris, it's me, Rory!"

"Oh, Rory!" Despite not having spoken to her for so long, it still amazed Rory how fast Paris went from homicidal to happy. "I haven't talked to you in forever, how's your mom?"

"She's good, she's good. How's the clinic? Doyle posted about your second location on Instagram, congrats."

Rory bit her fingernail while Paris told her about her fertility clinic between the sounds of sick toddlers. "You should come see it and think about donating your eggs. Scratch that, see if you can ask Lorelai about her eggs. A successful geriatric pregnancy by a man with the least symmetrical scrotum I've ever seen? She's a marvel, my colleagues and I would love to study her tubes."

Ignoring the fact that Paris was so intimate with her stepfather's scrotum, Rory replied, "I think I might take you up on that offer. In about 3 and a half hours or so?"

"You're moving back to New York? Lorelai's Facebook status seemed pretty excited to have you back in ye olde Stars Hollow."

"Moving, God no, I'm staying a few days for a job interview. But I need a place to stay. Are any of Doyle's places free?"

The silence on the end of the line was long enough to convince Rory that she had pushed her luck. Who would blame Paris for telling Rory to fuck off for asking to live in one her husband's properties for free after not speaking for 3 years?

"Ugh, sorry, Cassandra was doing her pee dance. False alarm, she's just high on all the meds. Doyle has a place in Greenwich that just kicked out a couple of trust fund losers. With the amount of booger sugar they were snorting, they probably won't notice that they're still paying for utilities for a while. The new decor's garbage, the doorman's a pervert and the bed couldn't hold up a pillow, much less an adult woman. You want it?"

"I'll take anything. Thank you, Paris. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"I'll text you the address and tell the doorman you're on your way. Yes, you do owe me one."

"What?"

"Dexter, take your fingers out of there! Rory, I have to go, come by my office after your interview, we'll get lunch. Bring your wallet. Cassandra McMaster! Get off your brother."

With that, Paris ended the call and Rory mumbled a belated bye into her phone. She tucked her phone away and unfolded the check. Rory ran a finger over the empty space where she could write any amount of money she wanted. Every time she had made up her mind about the amount, Rory could never put the pen to paper. Her guilt covered her like a heavy blanket. Rory bit at her index finger again as her words bounced around in her skull.

'I think it's great the Grandpa died before he could watch James grow up and hate you too.'

Getting drunk and saying things you didn't mean had to be as hereditary as running away from Emily Gilmore. Rory tried to see her current situation as a blessing in disguise. Had she spent another week in Stars Hollow, she would've had a nervous breakdown. Stars Hollow was quaint and sweet and cute, but Rory hadn't been interested in quaint and sweet and cute since she was quaint and sweet and cute. It was like living in her own, way more boring Groundhog Day.

Thinking about what she was going to do when she got to New York made her pre-hangover turn into a real one. Rory picked up her phone and did what all miserable 30-somethings did when they were alone.

Scroll on Instagram.

––––

Being away from Paris for so long made Rory forget what a creative embellisher she was. The doorman had a slightly different opinion about how personal, personal space actually was, but he was not the deviant that Rory had cooked up in her mind. The apartment decor was Pinterest perfect, but nothing awful. The wooden bed frame groaned a bit when she flopped down on it, but Rory doubted it crumble under her. Rory could understand how Paris hated this apartment, though. The 'Live. Laugh. Love' poster in the living almost made her vomit. Though, that could've been the wine.

Rory crawled out of her dinner dress and changed into the joke skeleton onesie that Lorelai had given her one Christmas way back when. She pulled up Postmates on her phone. New York may have been the land of gourmet foods but Rory was Lorelai Gilmore's only daughter. When the going got tough, the tough ate garbage fast food. However, now that the tough was of legal drinking age, the tough got booze. Lots and lots of booze. While her order was on the way, Rory opened her laptop and cranked up her secret misery music, sweet Celine Dion. With the amount of money this building charged its tenants, the soundproofing had to be immaculate.

Half an hour later, Rory was in the possession of a large triple cheese and pepperoni pizza and the cheapest bottle of cabernet that any liquor store open at 2 in the morning could offer. Rory didn't remember pressing repeat but All By Myself had been playing on a loop since her 3rd slice of pizza. It was nothing short of spectacular. Somewhere between her 5th slice of pizza and her 3rd glass of wine, Rory dozed off. She woke up to one hell of a pounding in her head. She buried herself under the pillows and willed her brain to stop banging on the inside of her skull. After a while, Rory realized that the pounding wasn't coming from her head, but from the front door.

"Hey," the knocker yelled through the door, "If you commit suicide under my condo, my property value is going to tank. That's not very neighborly."

Rory smushed the pillow closer to her face and waited for her new "neighbor" to move on.

"Alright, could you at least commit suicide to something better than Celine Dion? She wasn't a good singer then and she's not now."

Now, sober Rory would have let that statement slide. But hungover, still a little drunk Rory, could not ignore it. She was ranting even before she got to the door.

"Celine Dion is a North American, Grammy award-winning, treasure! Maybe if you spent a little less time listening to Kid Rock and scratching your ass you would be able to recognize–" she said as she yanked the door open, "Her talent and..."

The end of Rory's rant came to a crashing halt when the tone-deaf neighbor turned out to be none other than Logan Huntzberger. He had the same stupidly blond hair, blue eyes, and gorgeous face with the addition of about 2 wrinkles. For a brief moment, he looked as surprised as she felt. But as usual, Logan knew how to roll with the punches. A familiar smile stretched across his face as he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

"Rory Gilmore, as I live in breathe. I thought I recognized the sound of that lecture."

"Logan, you're here. In front of me. In New York. Why are you in New York?"

"Oh you know," he replied with a shrug, "You make a few millions a year and suddenly you can live wherever you want. And you?"

"Just hanging out."

"Really? It's been a while since I hung out. Mind if I join you?"

Logan didn't wait for her response and slipped passed Rory. She shut the door and ran after him. He decided the living room wasn't fun enough and went straight to the bedroom, where Rory had made an absolute tornado of the place. Without batting an eye, Logan shoved her laptop to the side, kicked off his shoes and reclined on the bed. He picked up the near-empty bottle of wine on the nightstand and took a swig.

"Ugh, I remember you having better taste than this," he said with a wince before draining it.

He picked up a slice of cold pizza, took a bite and smiled up at her. "So Ace, how ya been?"

Rory's hangover had settled into the base of spine and sucked out any energy she had to deal with whatever Logan was trying to do. She ran her hands through her hair and closed her eyes.

"Logan, what are you doing here?" Rory asked.

"Hanging out," Logan replied with a wink.

"Logan."

Logan sat up with a laugh. "Oh come on! I see the girl who broke my heart for the first time in ten years and she's drinking shitty wine, blasting Celine Dion, and, dressed like a baby but I'm not allowed to bask in it? That's just not cricket."

"Well bask away. Bask away in the fact that I had to move back in with my mother at 32 years old."

"Meh, the Journal is hack paper anyways," Logan replied.

He laughed at the look of surprised on Rory's face. "Your grandmother wasn't very subtle about wanting to find out who fired you at her D.A.R. meetings."

"I'm gonna jump out of this window," Rory said, striding towards the window on the other side of the bed.

"Wait a second," Logan said, sitting up and pulling her between his spread legs, "I got a better idea. Why don't you come up to my penthouse, drink some very expensive wine and jump from my window. The view is much better."

The sunlight streaming through the window draped Logan in a halo of warmth. It might have been bottles of cheap wine or the onset of self-loathing, but Rory was suddenly chilly. Rory pushed Logan down on the bed and climbed on top of him. When Rory kissed him, she imagined. She imagined that she was 22, 10 lbs lighter, and had a future. Rory imagined that she wasn't a desperate, broke, jobless woman about to sleep with the man whose proposal she refused, it was her boyfriend and she loved him. She loved the way he kissed her neck and grabbed her hair and whispered into her neck when he was close. She loved the way he carried her up to his penthouse and poured her wine and stroked her hair until she fell asleep.

She loved him.

Rory woke up to the sound of the city rushing by outside. Logan's bare chest pressed up against her back while his arms caged her. Rory snuggled into the pillow and intertwined their hands together. For the life of her, she couldn't remember why she had turned down Logan's proposal all those years ago. Why hadn't she married him and gone to England? What had she been afraid of? She brought Logan's hand up to her face and kissed his knuckles. Maybe it was time to give Logan another chance. It had to be fate that she and Logan were in the same building. How could Rory look fate in the eyes and say no?

Rory's eyes snapped open when her lips touched cold metal. She was holding Logan's left hand. On his ring finger was a smooth silver band.

He was married.

Rory's stomach lurched and she launched herself out of the bed. She didn't know where the bathroom or the sink was so she aimed straight for the window. She wrenched it open in the nick of time and vomited up every ounce of wine and every crumb of pizza. Sweaty and exhausted, Rory draped herself on the ledge.

"You know Ace, I was joking about the suicide thing," Logan said, pulling her inside.

Rory jerked out of his arms. "Don't touch me," she said.

"Come on, Rory, let's have a little more wine and go back to bed," he replied, grabbing her wrist.

"Get away from me!" Rory pulled her arm away and walked around the bedroom, picking up her underwear and onesie.

Logan stalked after her, "What the hell is your problem, Rory?"

"You're married!"

Logan glanced down at his wedding ring and rolled his eyes. "Are you serious? You're upset about the ring? What, do you want me to take it off?"

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why did you sleep with me? Why didn't you stop me!?"

"You seemed pretty determined."

"I was drunk!" Rory shot back.

"Are you saying that I raped you? Is that what you're saying?"

"That's not what I'm saying!" Rory threw her clothes across the room. "I'm saying that you're married. You're a married man and I–we can't do this again, okay?"

Rory took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. "I'm gonna get my clothes and go. We can pretend that this never happened. I won't tell your wife or my mom or whatever. We can forget about it."

She walked passed Logan and found her clothes and pulled up her underwear. She pulled her bra straps over her shoulders and paused. She licked her lips.

"Can you hook me up?"

She heard Logan walk towards her. Goosebumps covered her body as Logan's fingers brushed against her back and hooked her bra closed. Logan draped himself over Rory's back and pressed his neck into her face. His warm hands gripped her hips.

"Logan," Rory began.

"I wouldn't have slept with you if I was in love with another woman, Rory. Odette's family owns one of the biggest publishing monopolies in Europe and my father was itching to expand. Odette needed a green card and I needed my father to leave me the hell alone. She knows the deal, Rory. You're not breaking up a happy home or whatever you're thinking in that big head of yours."

Rory sighed. "My head isn't big." She turned around but kept her eyes glued to the floor. "So, it's like a merger or something?"

Logan tipped her chin up so he could look her in the eyes, "Absolutely feudal. Odette lives in L.A. with her boyfriend. We get together for the holidays and take pretty pictures for the press. We agreed that when things needed to change that we'd change them."

"Are things changing?" Rory asked.

Instead of replying, Logan pulled her even tighter against his body and kissed her. His hands slipped across her shoulders and down her back. He took her hand and led her to the bed. Things were certainly changing.


	6. Chapter 6

Lorelai couldn't keep her eyes off Luke's jean-clad butt. It swished from this way and that as he fixed up breakfast. She couldn't understand the physics of it. The man never worked out a day in his life and yet, it was so firm, so juicy. She was so immersed in her appreciation of the butts of all butts, that she didn't notice when Luke put breakfast on the table in front of her.

Luke waved a hot cup of coffee under her nose. She took the cup and sipped.

"Mmm, you make the best coffee, Lukey," she said with a grin.

"Please don't use those handsy broads from the bridge club as an example on how to say my name," Luke replied, sitting down to eat his own breakfast.

"James!" He hollered, "Are you reading the bible up there or what? Come get your breakfast!"

"I love when you use your dad voice. It's so hot. Totally DILF status." Lorelai said before digging into her food.

Luke paused and set down his fork. "The hell is a DILF?"

"It stands for Dad I'd Like to "F" word you tell me not to say," James said as he threw himself in the chair.

Luke shot Lorelai a look who only giggled behind her coffee mug in response.

James was playing with his phone while eating his breakfast. After failing to put his fork into his mouth for the 3rd time, Luke sighed.

"Hey, you know the rules, no phones at the table. Eat your breakfast."

James rolled his eyes but did as Luke said. Lorelai laughed and ruffled his hair as she stood to refill her mug.

"You know mom," James said, mouth full of food, "My gym teacher says that people who drink too much coffee are no better than drug addicts."

"Coach Rabinowitz is calling other people addicts? That's rich coming from a guy who's been drinking his breakfast since '95. Well, I guess I can try to get a room at the same rehab as Elizabeth Taylor. Very glam."

"Who?" James asked.

"Why did I even bother watching TCM for 9 months straight if you don't even know who Elizabeth Taylor is?" Lorelai replied. "Luke, get this fetus away from me."

James giggled and gave Lorelai a hug goodbye before running out the door.

"Come by the diner right after your appointment, okay?" Luke said before walking over and giving her a kiss.

"Aye, aye captain."

Luke rolled his eyes and turned away before jumping at the swat Lorelai gave his ass.

"Make me lots of money!" Lorelai yelled after him.

Lorelai heard the door close and checked her phone between sips of coffee. Rory had been MIA all weekend. Lorelai knew Rory had her own life but it was unusual for her to not even send a 'super busy love u!' text. Lorelai's stomach grumbled and she sighed. It was obvious that her stomach was done for the day already. She frowned at her plate of golden brown pancakes, fluffy eggs, and crisp bacon. She scraped half into Paul Anka's bowl and half into Zsa-Zsa's. At least someone would get to enjoy Luke's cooking.

–––––––

Lorelai burst into the clinic waiting room and jogged up to the counter. The nurse behind the desk looked up at her, unimpressed.

"Good morning," Lorelai glanced down at her name tag, "Olga. Lorelai Danes to see Dr. Singh."

Olga looked down her nose at the computer screen and tapped away without a word. She looked up at Lorelai.

"You're late."

"Crazy, right? But you know how the traffic is up here and I had to drive up from Stars Hollow so–"

Olga plucked her pen out of her frizzy red hair and pointed to the waiting room, "Sit."

"Oh-kay. I guess Dr. Singh will be with me shortly?" Lorelai asked.

Olga said nothing and raised a thin eyebrow in response.

"Cool, cool. I'll just take a seat." For some reason Lorelai couldn't understand, she threw Olga a thumbs up. Oh, if looks could kill.

She threw herself down in the plastic chair and tugged her hat off her head. The morning had been going so well. Luke had woken her up so early that there was no way that she would be late for her appointment. But as she was heading out the door, her stomach did a quadruple backflip somersault into hell. The vomit-coaster had taken her on a 15-minute ride. It then took another 30 minutes for her to feel anywhere near okay to drive.

Lorelai shifted in pain as her stomach cramped. She checked her phone again, still no sign from Rory. Her phone vibrated and Lorelai scrambled to check, in case it was Rory. No luck. Just Michel bemoaning the lack of style the members of the North East Psychology Conference, who were spending the week at the Inn, had. Lorelai had thought up a great response when Olga called her name.

"Room 3."

"Thanks." Like a child who didn't know better, Lorelai gave her another thumbs up. She scurried away when she saw how tight the nurse was holding her pencil.

The exam room was empty when Lorelai walked in. She hoisted herself on the table without the crinkly wax paper making too much noise. While Lorelai was waiting, she looked around. Not much had changed since she had been here for her annual physical. The jar of gumdrops on Dr. Singh's bookshelf was new though. It was a very full jar. Dr. Singh wouldn't notice if she took a few. Lorelai grabbed a cup from the water cooler in the corner and tip-toed over. She filled her cup and sat back down on the table. The first gumdrop was sweet and sticky and ooey-gooey chewy. Why had it been so long since she had a gumdrop? She married a man who worked next to a candy shop for God sakes.

Lorelai had only just disposed of the candy cup when the door opened.

"Good morning," Dr. Singh said, "Candy?" She picked up the jar and offered it to Lorelai.

Lorelai felt beads of sweat pepper her forehead and spit pool up in her mouth. Now she remembered why it had been months since she had a gumdrop. Lorelai turned her head to the side to be polite and vomited on the tiles.

––––

Dr. Singh walked Lorelai to a vacant exam room while a custodian was called to clean up the mess. Dr. Singh tutted as she took Lorelai's vitals.

"You should've gone to the ER if you were having a medical emergency."

"Since when is puking a medical emergency?"

"Lorelai Danes vomiting at the sight of candy is a medical emergency." Dr. Singh replied. "You've only been having stomach problems?" She asked.

"I wish. I've been super tired lately even when I sleep for, like, 10 hours. I've been having a lot of headaches too."

"How long has this been going on?" Dr. Singh asked.

"2 months, I think?"

Dr. Singh nodded. "Okay, lay down and lift your shirt, please. Unbutton your pants too."

Lorelai did and like usual, opened her mouth when she really didn't need to. "It usually takes a few daiquiris to get me like this during the daytime," she said with a laugh.

Dr. Singh paused as she put on her gloves and raised her eyebrows.

"Sorry, I made it weird. I'll shut up now."

Dr. Singh pressed on her stomach from the top down. Lorelai winced at the pressure. Dr. Singh nodded before standing straight and taking off her gloves. She picked a tablet up off the desk and tapped away.

"Have you gained any weight?" she asked.

Lorelai buttoned her pants and sat up, "Definitely not."

"Have you been feeling fuller lately? Like the feeling that you've already eaten a meal but you've only taken a few bites?"

"Actually, yeah that's been happening a lot."

"And you have been nauseous and have been vomiting often. Are you bruising easier?"

"I don't know, I haven't really checked," Lorelai asked.

"Hmmm." Dr. Singh tapped away at the tablet again.

"I don't speak doctor. Is that 'hmmm' good or 'hmmm' bad?"

Dr. Singh continued to focus on her tablet, "It's an 'I have a few thoughts about your symptoms' hmmm, Lorelai."

"Thoughts like what?"

"Thoughts like how to treat something you might have. But I won't know for sure until we do some tests. Blood, urine, the usual."

Looking up at last Dr. Singh said, "I'd like to do these tests right away. I'll grab a nurse for you." She turned to walk out of the room.

"Wait, wait, wait. Dr. Singh," Lorelai said, hopping off the exam table to go after her. "You can't throw out that you have 'thoughts' about what's wrong with me and not share them."

"Lorelai, I don't like to make assumptions or diagnoses without facts and results. There's no point in getting you upset like that."

"Why would I get upset? What's so upsetting?" Lorelai asked.

Dr. Singh sighed. She finally realized that Lorelai wouldn't give up until she had an answer. "Do you really want to know what I think, Lorelai?"

"Yes!"

"At your age and with your symptoms, it's most likely that you have some form of B-cell malignancy."

"I–I don't know what that means," Lorelai replied.

"I think you might have cancer."

––––

Lorelai blinked at the sting of the needle in her arm. The nurse put a bandage in the crook of her arm before handing her a urine sample cup.

"When you're done, just leave the cup on the sink."

Lorelai nodded and got up to use the bathroom. She felt like she was floating. She left the cup on the sink and washed her hands. As she opened the door to the clinic, Lorelai turned and walked back to the front desk.

"Hi, I'd like to change my contact information, please."

Lorelai bit her lip as her shaking fingers refused to help her unlock the car door. When she did unlock the car door, Lorelai sat there gripping the steering wheel in silence. There were too many thoughts in her head. She needed a moment. An hour passed before Lorelai's body cooperated well enough to drive back home. On autopilot, she drove straight to Luke's. By the time Lorelai realized how badly she wanted to drive home and crawl into bed, Luke had already spotted her through the window.

Luke gave her a quick kiss on her cheek and pressed a hot mug of coffee into her hands. The diner was packed. The only way she managed to get a spot at the counter was by elbowing a slow going granny out of the way.

"So," Luke said in the middle of refilling coffees, "How'd the appointment go?"

"A stomach bug. It's on its way out. She said it probably wouldn't have stuck around so long if I ate more fruit and vegetables and drank more water. Can you believe that? Gross." Lorelai replied.

"Sounds like she knows what she's talking about," he replied, taking her coffee away and returning with a glass of cold water.

"Oh come on, Luke! Are you going to take the advice of a doctor over the wants and needs of your wife?" she asked, holding the glass away from her face like it was poison.

"Yes, I would. Paul Anka knows how to eat a more balanced diet than you do."

Lorelai gasped. "He eats out of the garbage!"

"You think the food you eat isn't garbage?"

"One more crack like that mister and the next time April asks me if getting another piercing is a good idea, I'll say yes."

"Are you using my kids against me?" Luke asked.

"I never claimed to be a woman of God, Luke."

Luke rolled his eyes. "What can I get ya? Burger and fries?"

"Nah, I already ate. Dr. Singh had a big jar of gumdrops in her office."

"Candy is not food."

"Says you." Lorelai gave him a kiss and put her coat back on. "See you at home."

Whatever Luke was about to say was interrupted by an irate customer sitting at the counter. She slapped her hand on the counter.

"Come on, man! I've been trying to ask you a question for like, 10 minutes! What's your WIFI password? Geez."

Luke smiled and said, "Oh it's 'you've been at my counter for 2 hours and you've spent $2 get the hell out of my place'."

"Wait, can you spell that?" she replied, her head behind her screen.

Lorelai shook her head and walked outside. She didn't think she could handle Sookie and Michel without bursting into tears. She decided to take a walk. A few minutes into her a walk, a snowflake landed on the tip of her nose. She paused in the middle of the town square and looked up at the falling snow. She hadn't smelled a thing.


	7. Chapter 7

It was two long days of being glued to her phone before the clinic called. They wanted her to come in as soon as possible to discuss her results with Dr. Singh. Lorelai had to struggle to keep herself upright in the walk-in fridge when she ended the call. She sat down on a crate of potatoes and thought about what was left of her future. For two days, Lorelai had been too chicken to press search after she typed in b-cell malignancy on Google. It wasn't fair that she was going to die before even spending fifteen years with Luke. She knew Luke would be okay. She knew Rory would be okay.

But James.

When her dad had died, it took Lorelai a week before she could muster up the energy to do anything but cry and sleep as a grown woman. James wouldn't survive.

Lorelai jumped up when the door to the walk-in swung open. Sookie yelped at the sight of her and dropped the knife she was holding in surprise. Sookie threw out her hand to catch it, fumbled, and sliced open a finger.

"Oh ouch!" Sookie said with a giggle. "What are you doing back here?" she asked before taking the cloth hanging out of her pocket and wrapping it around her finger.

"Taking a call from my doctor, no biggie" Lorelai replied walking them both out into the kitchen.

"Since when do you talk to your doctor from the walk-in?" Sookie asked, letting an exasperated line chef wrap a bandaid on her cut.

"I'm trying to be a good boss. I think I would be breaking a few laws if I forced the kitchen to listen to my pap smear results."

The mostly male kitchen groaned in unison at Lorelai's answered.

"Hey! Grow up you guys, all of you should get used to hearing about it!" Sookie said. "Except you, Jack. You'll find Mr. Right someday."

Sookie turned back to Lorelai. "So, they find anything fun up there?" she asked.

"Okay, let's leave the kitchen before I get sent to boss lady jail."

"Aargh, I hate going to the doctor, I'm always afraid I'm gonna go in for a stomach ache and come out with cancer or something like that!" Sookie said as they walked into the dining room.

Lorelai knew that at that moment, she could pull Sookie to the side and tell her everything. She could have someone to yell with and cry with and talk about how it wasn't fair. People like her didn't get cancer. They didn't. She was healthy, she was happy. Sookie was the best friend she'd ever had. If there was ever a person that she could tell, it was Sookie. But the words couldn't come, they wouldn't come. It was like a hand was tightening around her throat when she started to speak about it. So she gave up. She let Sookie lead her into a conversation about next week's specials and about how Martha, Davey, and Bryan were driving her crazy.

–––––

Slipping out during her lunch break, Lorelai drove up to the clinic. With the way the nurse had moved appointments around so Lorelai could be seen that afternoon, she knew something bad was headed her way. She sat in the waiting room and thought about how she was going to talk to Emily about writing up a will. After Richard's first heart attack Emily took the reins when it came to settling their estate. God knows Lorelai knew nothing about it. When the nurse asked her to step into the exam room, Lorelai couldn't swallow around the lump in her throat.

The colorful posters about hand washing covering your mouth were more sinister than usual as Lorelai sat down on the exam table. She placed her coat in her lap and buried her hands in the fuzzy leopard print shag. She'd only bought it because when she and Luke passed it by at the mall a few years ago he claimed only an insane person would buy it. She stroked the coat and wished she could go back in time and stop herself from being such an idiot about Luke. She had wasted so much time making him chase her and leaving him when he needed her the most. She finally had him and she was about to leave him for good.

Dr. Singh walked in and closed the door behind her.

"Lorelai, thank you for coming in on such short notice. I've looked at your results and I have good news. You don't have cancer."

Immediately, tears sprung to Lorelai's eyes. When they started they wouldn't stop coming. "Oh my God. Holy shit! Oh, God!" Lorelai wiped her face, "Are you kidding? I was planning my will!"

Dr. Singh held up her hands, "To be fair, I did tell you that I only thought you had cancer and I didn't even want to tell you that."

Lorelai felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over her head. She felt like she could breathe again.

"Now that that's out of the way, I want to talk to you about something I found in your blood tests. Lorelai, when was your last period?"

That was a weird segue. "A real period? Years maybe? Lately, I spot or skip the whole the month. I assumed I crossed over, you know? Finally kicked the gynecological bucket. Why?"

"Lorelai, you're pregnant."

A sheet of white light passed before Lorelai's eyes.

"Excuse me?" she asked when her vision returned.

"Pregnant. You're pregnant." Dr. Singh repeated.

"I, uh, I don't think so. I have two kids–two really great kids–I know what it feels like to be pregnant, this isn't pregnant. I'm not pregnant. I'm 48, that's what I am."

"It's uncommon but it's not impossible for a woman your age to conceive. Many geriatric pregnancies occur shortly before menopause because of a small burst of fertility. A last-ditch effort from your ovaries so that your uterus could do its job one more time."

"Are you sure? Really, really, really sure?" Lorelai asked.

"Really, really, really sure Lorelai. Your blood test confirmed it. However, I'm going to refer you to the Hearthwood Gynecological clinic. Your symptoms and your blood tests lead me to believe that your pregnancy could be high risk. They're a very good clinic, of course."

"Oh-okay." Lorelai said as she tied her coat closed and picked up her purse.

"Hey Lorelai," Dr. Singh said.

"Yeah?"

"It's going to be okay."

Lorelai nodded and closed the door behind her.

––––––

The call to Hearthwood was made in the walk-in once again. Next week she would be getting an ultrasound to see...it. Lorelai still couldn't wrap her head around it all. Pregnant at 48 years old. Lorelai sat down on a crate, kicked off her heels, and stared down at her knobby, crooked feet. Her back hurt when she woke up. Keeping up with James was sometimes too much effort for her. She was wrinkled and sagging and shrinking. What was happening?

Everything about...it made no sense. With Rory and James, her pregnancies were identical. The cravings, nausea, it was all so familiar. In fact, Lorelai realized she pregnant with James all on her own, despite not having been pregnant since she was 16. Lorelai didn't have time to think about...it. The holiday season was right around the corner. There were too many things to do and focusing on...this would put the Inn in a place she swore it would never be. Now was not the time.

––––––

"I can't believe you're going to let me stay here for free. Doyle I really owe you one." Rory said.

Doyle shrugged, "It's no big deal. You saved my ass plenty of times. Plus, Paris said if I didn't let you stay here, she'd bury me in the cellar and spend my life insurance money on young, hot, prostitutes."

"Gotta love that girl."

Doyle looked around the apartment and frowned, "You sure you don't want to change the furniture? Some of the model penthouses have some great stuff."

"No, I'm fine. I'm going to be way too busy looking for a job to care about what this place looks like. It's great."

"Okay, but you are free to go up there and steal some stuff. But not the lightbulbs, people will think you're on meth."

Rory laughed and punched him in the shoulder before ushering him to the front door. "Bye Doyle."

"Don't forget, Paris wants to have you over for dinner next week. She wants to show some slides of the most perfect ovary in the tri-state area."

"Nothing makes a dinner tastier than ovaries! I'll be there."

She closed the door behind him and pushed a few boxes out of the way to clear a path to the couch. Who knew it would take three weeks for her mom to FedEx everything to New York? Connecticut was practically five minutes away! Her phone vibrated and she picked it up with a sigh.

"Mom, I promise, I got all my boxes. Every single one. You don't have to keep calling to check."

"I just want to make sure! You can't trust FedEx people. Look at the way they park the trucks in the middle of the road during rush hour, they're shady!"

"Mom, are you ever going to forgive them for making you miss that plane?"

"I will when they let me beat that driver to the ground. Until then, I will complain furiously."

"So how's everything?" Rory asked.

"Oh you know, same old, same old. Luke's got a nice butt, James's making my hair go gray and your grandma has decided to like me even less, lately."

"How's that possible? The only person she likes less than you is the devil." Rory said, looking up as she heard the apartment door shut.

She smiled at Logan as he walked in, shaking the snow from his hair. He pressed a kiss to her temple on his way to the kitchen.

"Well, I guess it's time for me to send the devil a fruit basket cause he's moving up in the world. Hey, how's your new job?"

"It's great! I've never worked in a startup before so it's all pretty new. It's weird not needing a GPS to find my editor's office."

"The less exercise the better, I always say," Lorelai replied with a laugh.

"You've literally never said that before."

"Let's pretend I've always said it. So, what's it like living with Paris? Does she ration the fruit snacks? Do bed checks? Comb you for lice?"

"Mom, Paris is not that bad."

Rory took the glass of wine that Logan pressed into her hand. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder as he sat down next to her.

"Rory if Paris is listening, just say loudly and clearly that you love anchovy and cheese pizza. I'll drive down and pick you up right now. James's volleyball game be damned. Our couch is always open for you."

"Mom, how many times have I told you that you can't use me as an excuse to not to go to James's matches?"

"Ugh, too many. I gotta go. Luke's making that face again."

"Is it the 'are you really going to sit there and say that in front of me' face?"

"Yes! Bye!"

"Bye, mom."

Rory tossed her phone on the coffee table and took a large gulp of wine. Logan laughed and shook his head.

"Listening to you and your mom talk is like watching a tennis match. It's exhausting."

"You haven't heard her talk to Emily. Now that's a workout."

Logan put his feet up on the table and fiddled with his wine glass. "Sounds like granny hasn't called you, yet."

"Nope," Rory replied, draining her wine glass before getting up and going to the kitchen for a refill.

Logan wrapped his arms around her as she leaned against the counter.

"Don't worry about it, she'll come around. If she got over the whole 'stealing a yacht' thing, she'll get over this."

Rory took a sip of her wine. "Maybe I don't want her to get over this. You should have seen the way she looked at me and the stuff she said. Ugh. I don't even think I ever liked her."

Logan took the wine glass and drained it. "So? Who cares if you like her. You like her money, right? Why don't you just fill up that check and move on?"

"I don't need it. I can figure out something else on my own. I'll get a job, save some money and then rub my success in her pinched little face."

He turned Rory around in his arms. "That's petty and vindictive."

"Is it?"

"Yes. And I like it. You're getting more and more like me every day. This calls for a celebration. Lucky for us I made reservations at the Gramercy Tavern."

"Taking me out to dinner because I plan on getting revenge on my grandmother? I think you might be a bad influence on me Logan Huntzberger." Rory replied, playing with his shirt collar.

"Then my work here is done," he said as he leaned in to give her a kiss.


	8. Chapter 8

Rory cleaned her mouth with a napkin and watched Logan drain the last dregs of his wine glass.

"If I liked pickles, I'm pretty sure I could use your liver to top my burger. How are you not dead from all the wine you drink?" she asked.

"Been practicing since my bar mitzvah, kid. Keep up!"

Rory laughed and took a sip of her water. An ice cube lodged in her throat when she caught sight of the man walking through the restaurant door.

"Oh my god," she muttered as she looked down at her plate.

"What?" Logan asked.

"Your dad is here."

Logan's eyes widened in panic, "What?"

"Mitchum, your father, is here and is walking over right now."

Not wanting to look like guilt personified, Rory stayed put and flashed Mitchum a warm smile when he loomed over the table.

"I knew I recognized those eyes. How the hell are ya, Rory? I heard you kicked Wall Street Journal's ass to the curb. Good girl." Mitchum said, thrusting a gloved hand into Rory's face.

"Thanks," Rory said, shaking his hand.

Logan pursed his lips and tapped his fingers on the table. Mitchum slapped him on the shoulder with a laugh. "Gosh Logan, don't smile too much, I might think you're happy to see me. Mind if I pull up a chair?"

Mitchum snapped his fingers and like magic, a waiter arrived with a chair and spirited away his coat and other outerwear. To Rory, Mitchum hadn't changed much. He looked the same as he did ten years ago. Broad, blond and mean, only with a little less hair on top.

A waiter dropped by with a glass and a bottle of wine. He filled Mitchum's glass and swept away. Mitch took a long, deep gulp with a satisfied sigh.

"How are your grandparents, Rory? Word on the street is that it's going to be a very good year for Richard."

Logan dumped half of the wine into his glass. "I find that hard to believe since he's been dead for a while."

Mitchum didn't have the decency to look chastised. "My apologies, Rory, I can't believe that slipped my mind."

The tension that surrounded the table was unbearable. Rory had to escape. Ten years hadn't put any Huntzberger animosity to rest.

"I'll be right back," Rory said giving in to her urges and speed walking to the bathroom.

Logan watched her scurry off with a sigh. He turned to his father.

"What are you even doing here? You hate New York."

Mitchum shrugged. "Your mother ordered another Birkin but was too doped up to come get it. You know those cheap bastards don't deliver. I saw the back of your head from my taxi, so I decided to pop in."

"Lucky me."

"No, no. Lucky me, I haven't seen Gilmore in a while, it's nice to know I was right. Walking away from the Wall Street Journal! The lights are on but nobody's home I guess."

"Don't start that shit, okay? I'm trying to have dinner with a friend, don't ruin it by being yourself."

Mitchum pulled out a cigar and lit it. "Fine. How's Odette?"

"She's fine."

"Fine? Just fine?"

"Yes, fine."

"I hear she's still living in the townhouse in Brooklyn."

"She needs the space for her studio," Logan replied. He topped off his glass of wine.

"How the hell do you expect to have a baby when you and your wife are living in two different boroughs?"

"Not this again. Odette doesn't want to have a kid now, okay? Leave it alone."

"And what about you, you don't want a son?"

"Who cares what I want? She doesn't want a kid, end of story."

A waitress timidly walked over to the table. "Sir, smoking isn't allowed here."

Mitchum blew out a puff of smoke. "Why don't you go tell someone who gives a shit, sweetheart."

The waitress scurried away and Mitch turned back to Logan. "You know it doesn't matter if she wants to have a baby or not, right? You just tell her without you, she can take her hippy ass back to London and she'll get into position."

Logan snatched Mitchum's cigar out of his hand and threw it into his wine glass. "I don't plan on taking marriage advice from a man whose wife is one bastard child away from slitting her wrists. Can you go now?"

Mitchum looked at his ash filled drink and chuckled. "Fine. But she's not getting any younger." He stood up and dropped a few bills on the table. "You can keep the cigar."

––––––––––––

Lorelai memorized the speckled dots on the ceiling while the ultrasound wand slid over her stomach. Dr. Washington was silent and was probably staring very hard at the screen. Lorelai didn't want to look. Lorelai had been sneaking away to see Dr. Washington twice a week for the last month. Dr. Washington, at the start, had been optimistic and firm but as the weeks went on, she became progressively more concerned. No matter how many pills Lorelai took or how many walks she went on or how many greens she ate, the baby wasn't doing what it was supposed to be doing. Lorelai flinched as Dr. Washington wiped the gel off her stomach.

"You can pull your shirt down now, Lorelai."

Lorelai did so and sat up. She clapped her hands together and let out a breath.

"So, what's the diagnosis, doc?" she asked.

Dr. Washington and pushed her dreadlocks over her shoulder. "I'm going to be honest with you, Lorelai. Things aren't progressing well." Dr. Washington turned the screen towards Lorelai and pointed to a fuzzy gray spot Lorelai could barely see.

"You see here…"

Lorelai twisted the fabric of her sweater in her hands as Dr. Washington listed all the ways her baby had turned out wrong. Lorelai looked up as she realized that Dr. Washington had stopped speaking.

"What should I do then?"

"Well, you have options. You can carry the baby as long as you can and we'll see what happens or you can terminate. Late term abortions can be covered by your insurance if there is a pressing medical need and in my opinion, you have one."

"So, what should I do? What do you think I should do?" Lorelai asked again.

"I think you and your partner should discuss your options." Dr. Washington replied.

"But, what do you think I should do?"

"Lorelai, I understand that you're scared, but I can't decide this for you. I can support you and the decision you choose to make, but I can't make it. Now, I'd like to see you again, next week to check on your progress. Stop by reception on your way out and make an appointment, okay?"

Lorelai nodded and slowly slid off the table. She walked passed the reception desk and into her car. As her car began to warm up, she let out a sigh. What was she doing? All this sneaking around for a baby that didn't even make it that far. She gripped her bright purple steering wheel cover until her knuckles turned white. Her life was finally falling into place. James was growing up. The Firefly was consistently making money. Things were finally okay. She didn't want that to change. Lorelai tugged the keys out of the ignition and walked back to the clinic.

"Hi," she said softly as she stopped in front of the receptionist, "I'd like to make an appointment."


	9. Chapter 9

Luke glanced over at the passenger seat at Lorelai who was scrolling and pouting at her phone.

"You okay?"

"Oh, you know," Lorelai replied, "Just imagining a life where I didn't use my son to shield me from my mother."

Lorelai turned and mournfully looked at the empty backseat behind her. "God, how did I raise a child that actually wanted to spend his Saturday mornings being active? Who even has a volleyball game on a Saturday morning? Why haven't those people been committed!?"

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to go to dinner without him. I said we could stay home tonight and drive James out for his game tomorrow. You can't complain about this."

"Oh yes, I can! I can complain about anything. It's my secret skill."

"It's not a secret if everyone knows about it."

"Hush, you." Lorelai said before sighing. "I can't abandon her. All she has is those I'm better than all those other rich white ladies meetings and yelling at her maids to get her through the day. We skip out on a Friday night dinner and than BAM! She's dead, the maids ransack the house and the Stars Hollow Gazette runs a story about the worst daughter in the entirety of New England."

Luke pulled into Emily's driveway. "There's no way they'd run a story about that."

"Really? When I moved here, the front page was about 'Teen Mom Lorelai Gilmore'."

"Oh yeah. I forgot how boring this place was." Luke replied. He scratched his head under his cap before tossing it in the backseat.

He turned the car off and unclipped his seatbelt. Luke looked at Lorelai, "Do you plan on getting out of the car, tonight or what?"

"You know, now that I think about it, we should just go home. In fact, let's rev this baby up and get a couple of burgers, c'mon, chop chop."

Luke rolled his eyes. "I did not put on a tie and drive 20 minutes for nothing. We're going to dinner and I'm getting a steak. Now move."

Lorelai gasped. "You can't make me."

"I'll drag you out of this car and throw in that house."

"That sounds hot. Let's go home so you can throw me around."

"Lorelai."

"Fine! Fine. Ugh," Lorelai said, stepping out of the car, "You're such a dad."

Instead of a brand new maid opening the door, Emily opened the door to them all by herself.

"Wow mom, you remembered how to open the front door."

"Well, every once in a while I can muster up the strength." Emily said with a raise of her eyebrow.

A maid materialized from the shadows of the foyer to take their coats. As they sat in the living room, Emily flashed a too sweet smile while another maid poured their drinks.

"So…" Lorelai threw out, feeling a shiver go down her spine at her mother's cheek to cheek grin.

"So! How is everything? Preparing for the holiday rush at the inn, I assume?"

"Sure…"

"Hopefully, you'll be bringing on a lot of extra help! Maybe it's time to give that lovely little frenchman a bit more responsibility with how busy things are going to be soon."

"I've done the holiday rush a million times, I can handle it just fine."

Emily rolled her eyes but that suspicious smile was still glued to her face. "And Luke, how are things at the diner? Any thoughts about expanding?"

"Uh, not at the moment, no." Luke replied, fiddling with his glass of water.

"Well, it's always good to have as many sources of income as possible these days."

"Mom, Luke is charging almost $3,000 a month to live in apartments smaller than your 3rd guest bathroom. We're _fine._ " Lorelai said.

Emily took a small, neat sip of her wine before slamming the glass down on the table. "Oh, I can't wait any longer. I just have to give you my gift!"

Emily jumped up from the couch and walked into the recesses of the house. Luke and Lorelai looked at each other in confusion. Emily walked back into the living room with two maids trailing behind her, holding a massive pale green gift box, topped with a white bow.

The maids placed it on the table and Emily clasped her hands in front of her in excitement. "Go on, open it! No wait! Luke should open it. It'll be a nice surprise for him."

Luke glanced at Lorelai before ripping off the wrapping paper . He stood back and read the cardboard box.

"Silver cross bal-mo-ral handcrafted pram stroller. Color: navy." He frowned at Emily. "You got us a stroller? Look, I know that tantrum James had at his game was childish but he is 8. I swear." Luke said with a strained smile.

Lorelai's stomach lurched at the sight of the stroller. She couldn't know. Her mother couldn't know. It wasn't possible.

"Mom," Lorelai began.

"You two promised me that I would be the first person to know if you were trying for another baby.–"

"Mom," Lorelai said, trying to stop her mother's runaway mouth.

"–I was so embarrassed when Carol told me at last weeks DAR meeting that her daughter's colleague had been treating Lorelai in Hearthwood for over a month–"

"Mom," Lorelai said again, trying to avoid Luke's eyes as he stared at her.

"–but, I forgive you. I know it's a little early but look at how darling it is. When I saw it at the boutique in New York I–"

"Mom!" Lorelai said. "Take it back."

Emily's mouth dropped open. "I certainly will not take it back. My grandchild will not be pushed around in some thrift store stroller."

"Take it back." Lorelai said.

"I think you're being very ungrateful, Lorelai. Do you understand how ridiculous I would look returning a $3,000 stroller?"

"Take it back!" Lorelai screamed before storming out of the living room.

The slam of the front door shook the crystal chandelier above them. Emily frowned and grasped the broach on her jacket.

"It is just like her to take a special moment like this and make it all about her." She said.

Luke shook his head and sighed. "Goodnight Emily."

A stone faced maid was standing by the front door, holding his and Lorelai's jackets. Outside Lorelai stood next to the car, shivering. He handed her her coat and unlocked the car. He turned the ignition on and waited for the car to warm up. Lorelai sat in the passenger seat without a word. Luke pulled out of the driveway and stared straight ahead at the road.

"Luke." Lorelai said.

He didn't answer.

"Luke." Lorelai said again. "There isn't–there's no baby."

"Lorelai, please. I need to focus on the road." Luke said, a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

The ride home was filled with a cold, oppressive silence. Lorelai had watched the side of Luke's face the entire time and with the exception of the veins in his neck bulging, he hadn't moved a muscle. When they pulled into the driveway, Luke left the car running, stepped out and slammed the door behind him. Lorelai scrambled after him, trying to catch up to his long strides in her stilettos.

"Luke," she said, following him up the stairs. "Listen to me for five seconds, let me explain!"

Luke shook his head and walked into the bedroom. "There's nothing to explain." he replied. He grabbed an empty duffle bag from the closet and tossed in on the bed, scaring Paul Anka awake. Wrenching the dresser open, he began stuffing handfuls of clothes in the bag. "You're pregnant and you weren't going to tell me. There, I saved you five seconds."

"That's not what happened."

"Are you pregnant?" Luke asked.

"Yes. But–"

"Then that is exactly what happened." Luke zipped his duffle bag. "I'm sleeping at the diner tonight."

Lorelai snatched the duffle bag away from him and tossed his clothes on the bed. "No you're not. You are staying right here and you are going to listen to me."

Luke rolled his eyes and starting re-filling the bag. "Look, I don't have time for this. The car's running and I don't want to kill the battery."

"No!" Lorelai said, grabbing the bag away. "You're going to listen to me!"

Luke clenched his jaw and crossed his arms. "Fine. Talk."

Lorelai clutched the duffle bag to her chest like a shield. "I didn't tell you because, there isn't going to be a baby."

Luke furrowed his brows. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Lorelai took a deep breath. "The reason I've been going to Heathrow is because there was something wrong. Really wrong. And you're so busy with everything and nobody knew. I–"

Luke said nothing so she kept going. "There was no point in telling you because I was going to take care of it."

"So you thought that going behind my back and getting an abortion made more sense than telling me you were pregnant?" Luke replied.

"Yes! It's my problem and I'm taking care of it. I don't understand why you're so mad."

"No, it's _our_ problem, Lorelai. I'm your husband, do you remember? We did the whole thing with the white dress and the church? You don't get decide this kind of stuff by yourself!"

"When the problem is attached to my uterus sucking the life out of me, I decide it is my problem!"

Luke grabbed his duffle bag out of her arms. "Right now, our only problem is _you_. I'm sleeping at my apartment. I'll pick up James after his game and bring him home."


	10. Chapter 10

Lorelai was sitting on the couch, a purring Zsa-Zsa in her lap and Paul Anka at her feet, when James barreled through the front door. He dropped his duffle bag and coat on the floor and jumped on the couch. Zsa-Zsa hissed at him before bounding off Lorelai's lap and up the stairs. Lorelai kissed James' forehead, hoping he wouldn't take notice of her red-rimmed puffy eyes.

"How'd the game go?" she asked.

"It was awesome! We didn't win, but Avery spiked the ball so hard, that some kid's face exploded!"

"When did youth volleyball become a blood sport?" Lorelai asked. She craned her head over James' shoulder. "Where's your dad?"

"At the diner. Hey, can we have Chinese for lunch? I haven't had a fortune cookie in forever!"

Lorelai walked to the front door and stared out into the yard. She shivered in the breeze and ached for the familiar sight of a green pick up.

"Mom?" James called out from behind her. "Can we?"

"Sure kid," she replied, finally shutting the door. "I haven't overdosed on MSG in a while."

––––

Between itty-bitty bites of plain white rice and steamed broccoli, Lorelai tried to convince Michel to come in on his day off.

"No," Michel said, disgust dripping from his voice. "I will not sacrifice my one day off for you, boss or no."

"Michel please," Lorelai begged into the phone, "Just this once, I'll never ask you again."

"No."

"Michel!"

"Absolutely not. Nothing you can offer me could be better than driving up to New York and gorging myself on 2,000 calories worth of carbs, sugar, and, fat. Nothing. Now goodbye Lorelai, I have guests waiting to check in."

"Wait! I'll let you be the owner for the day."

The line went quiet. "I'm listening," Michel replied.

"Full privileges. Throwing people out, closing the desk, changing the menu. The whole shebang."

"I can finally say that I'm the owner when idiots want to speak to the owner? Fine. I'll come in tomorrow. But I want the weekend off."

"Deal. Michel, you're a lifesaver, you're such a babe."

"Keep that up and I'll report you to the HR department for sexual harassment."

"We have an HR department?"

Michel sighed. "Goodbye, Lorelai."

"Bye, sweet cheeks!"

Lorelai ended the call and stared at her phone screen. She had 12 missed calls. Without looking, Lorelai knew who they were from. If there was anything Emily Gilmore was great at, it was consistency. And for as long as Lorelai could remember, Emily Gilmore consistently destroyed anything that made her happy. But she, like a dumb beat up dog, always went for any morsel of positivity that her mother could give. For once, however, Emily couldn't take all the credit for the mess her life was in at the moment.

Lorelai jerked back as the salty, spicy smell of General Tso chicken assaulted her nose. "Houston, we have a problem," she groaned as she pushed James' fork out of her face.

James swallowed the chicken with a giggle. He tossed a pair of wrapped fortune cookies in her lap. Lorelai brought the cookies to her face and scrutinized them. She shook the one in her left hand.

"Hmm, I don't like the look of this one. That cracked edge signifies a dumb fortune about happiness or peace. Not into it." She looked at the cookie in her right hand. "But this ones already broken in half. That's bad fortune cookie luck. You can have this one."

"You're going to let your favorite son get a bad luck cookie?" James asked.

"Paul's my favorite son." Paul quietly woofed from under the coffee table in agreement.

"Your favorite human son?"

"Fine. Here." Lorelai tossed the James the unbroken fortune cookie to James, who cracked his right open.

"Your shoes will make you happy today. Lucky numbers are 6, 8, 35, 10, and, 87."

"That is so my fortune, trade me back!"

"Nuh-uh, no take-backsies. What's yours say?"

Lorelai cracked hers open and read aloud. "If you have something good in your life, don't let it go. Lucky numbers: 12, 43, 11, 13, and, 76."

"That was definitely my fortune, kiddo," Lorelai said, tossing the cookie into her mouth.

"Nah, my shoes have lights they make me super happy. Your cookie is talking about dad and me and Rory and Paul!" James said. "And maybe the cat. Maybe."

Lorelai folded up the fortune and stuffed it in her pocket. With the way Luke looked at her last night, Lorelai was pretty sure she didn't have a choice on whether he stayed.

Lorelai had to get out of the house. "Let's take Paul Anka for a walk."

"Oh! Can we play the lotto with my numbers? Please? I wanna win something big, like $50."

"Sure, but if Taylor says anything to me about you trying out for tween Jesus for his creepy play, I'm gone."

"Deal."

–––––

"Mom," James said as they walked into town, "I don't think Paul Anka likes his boots."

Paul ambled down the slush-covered sidewalk, shaking a booted paw with every step.

"It's either this, or I carry him and my old bones can't handle that kind of stress."

"Mom, your old bones can't even handle your bag," James replied, hitching Lorelai's purse up his shoulder.

"Exercise is good for you."

James waited outside Doose's store with Paul Anka while Lorelai went in and bought the lotto. Lorelai thought everything was going to plan when she caught sight of Taylor's neon blue parka standing outside.

Lorelai banged on the glass. "Hey! Step away from the child, Taylor! There is pepper spray in that purse and he is not afraid to use it!" she yelled.

Taylor huffed and rolled his eyes when Lorelai stepped out onto the sidewalk. "I'll ask you not to bang on my freshly cleaned windows Lorelai, thank you very much."

"Taylor, I'm warning you. One more step and I'll sic Paul Anka on you." Lorelai replied.

"But Lorelai, James would make the perfect Jesus for the play, if you could just convince him–"

Taylor's pleading was cut off as a wet snowball smacked him in the side of the face. He sputtered and turned around at the sight of a group of teenagers running away.

"Hey! You hooligans come back here! Dustin Belding! I see you! Your name is on your jacket!"

Taylor rage-walked after them.

"Bye, Mr. Doose!" James called after him.

"Someone should put a bell on that guy," Lorelai said with a shake of her head.

James turned his head and spotted Luke in the window of the diner. "Hey look, it's dad! Hi dad!" James yelled while waving his arms to get Luke's attention.

Luke looked up and gave a short wave and warm smile back. Lorelai met his eyes through the window and swallowed as he frowned and turned away. James tugged on her arm. "Can we go and get something to eat, mom?"

Lorelai cleared her throat. "We still have Chinese at home."

––––––––––

That afternoon, Lorelai dropped by Kim's Music Shoppe with James in tow. Steve and Kwan were out front, shovels off to the side, pelting each other with snowballs.

James took off, diving into the fray without hesitation. "Don't break any windows!" Lorelai yelled after him, "This house is worth more than my love for you!"

Henry Cho popped his head out of the front door at the sound of Lorelai's yelling. "I could hear you all the way from the basement, Ms. Gilmore."

"Howdy, Mr. Kim, can Lane come out and play?"

Henry grimaced, "Ugh, please stop calling me that. Lanes' in the kitchen."

"Number 2!" Steve yelled, "Are you coming outside or not?"

"Number 2? Like number 2, number 2?" Lorelai asked.

"No, like 'Dad number 2'. It was cute until they decided that 'dad number 2' was too long to say." Henry sighed and shoved a hat on his head. "Wish me luck."

Lorelai saluted him. "Godspeed."

"Hello?" Lane said from the depths of the house as Lorelai shut the door behind her, "Did I hear a Gilmore?"

Lorelai shook her head. Lane's shop was only slightly more organized then Mrs. Kim the former's antique gig. While you could see the floor and walls, 6-foot shelves and 5-foot women did not mix. Every time Lorelai came in, it was another episode of Horton Hears a Gilmore.

Lane was sitting at the kitchen table, balancing a near-empty bag of fun-size Snickers on her belly.

Lorelai pulled up a chair. "Healthy lunch?" she asked, grabbing a Snicker for herself.

"I'm pretty sure that judging pregnant women is bad for their health," Lane replied.

"Henry's a doctor, let's ask him."

"No! Please don't. Ever since I hit the 8-month mark, I've had to use Steve and Kwan as drug mules. They smuggle me chocolate and pizza when Henry's in the bathroom. Zack won't help either! He's giving me some crap about honesty and openness in co-parenting households."

"Gross."

"I know!"

Lane inhaled three more pieces of chocolate. "If I could actually put my snow boots on, I'd go live at the mall and eat nothing but Auntie Anne's and McDonald's. I am so sick of pickled vegetables, broth, and boiled chicken. If he tells me to stop looking at candy and thinking bad thoughts, I'm getting divorce number 2."

Lane rubbed her belly. "What are you doing over here anyway?"

"I have to run to New York to look at some furniture for the Inn tomorrow, can James grab a ride with Steve and Kwan?"

"Why the hell not? I could use a bit more child labor for the shop."

"Lane, you're cursing! What would your mother say?" Lorelai said with a grin.

"Something in Korean."

––––––––

Lorelai packed and repacked her hospital bag. She never thought she'd get any use out of the Depends Sookie got for her as a joke on her last birthday. Lorelai always said she'd rather be left in the woods to die than wear an adult diaper. Lorelai looked up at the sound of the bedroom door opening. Luke walked in. He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"You going somewhere?" he asked, looking at the bag.

"Yeah," Lorelai whispered.

Luke crossed his arms. "How you getting there?"

"Taxi? I thought about driving but the pamphlet said the anesthesia takes a few hours to wear off."

Luke walked towards her. "Can I take see?"

"Oh, sure." Lorelai dug the pamphlets out of the bedside table and held them out. Luke gingerly took them from her and sat down on the edge of the bed. Lorelai watched him squint and turned on the bedside lamp. Luke nodded in thanks. He plucked his glasses out of his flannel pocket and rested them on the edge of his nose. He took a deep breath and began reading.


	11. Chapter 11

Things at home were weird. Not weird like the kid who ate ants during recess, but still weird. Mom and dad reminded him of that movie April showed him about the robot who looked like a little boy but people didn't like him because he was a robot. He was so high tech that nobody could tell at first, but boy when he ate that spinach…

It was like someone had hidden under his parent's bed and kidnapped them. Now, there were a pair of robots here who looked just like them. Only robots would sit at the table during breakfast and not talk to each other. His dad would never stay at his job so late at night that he'd never see him, only a robot would do that. Only a robot would want to drive to grandma's house in different cars, not his mom. Only robots would act the way his mom and dad were acting now. They didn't laugh at each other or talk. If mom walked into a room and dad was there he would leave. If dad was there and mom came, he would leave. Dad didn't even try to get mom to come to his volleyball games anymore.

James knew there was no such thing as robots who hid under your bed so they could pretend to be your parents but, James couldn't figure out what was happening. Even having Rory back for Christmas didn't help. All Rory did was babysit him so mom and dad didn't have to stay at home. New Year's was the worst. Every year dad would stay home from work so they could go to Inn and watch the ball drop and drink fizzy apple juice. This year dad went to work. It was just him and mom. It wasn't the same.

One night before bed, James was wasting time on Youtube. A suggested video caught his eye. "Kids Meet Kids with Divorced Parents". James knew that word. He knew that auntie Lane and uncle Zach didn't live together anymore because they're divorced. Seth Perry missed a week of school because his parents got divorced. His English teacher told them they could go to the guidance counselor if they needed to talk. In the video, there were a lot of kids around his age who talked about their parents getting divorced, but their parents didn't act like his parents. Their parents yelled and screamed at each other and sometimes hit each other! His mom and dad would never do that. Never ever. The video was almost over when an older girl started talking about her parents. She talked about how her parents started to spend less time with each other. They didn't want to be in the same room with each other. Her mom started staying at work later and coming home after she and her brother were in bed. Her mom and dad wouldn't do stuff together if she and her brother weren't there. It was so familiar it made his stomach hurt.

James jumped when his bedroom light clicked on.

"Do I have to take your phone away again? I sent you to bed half an hour ago." Luke said, putting his hands on his hips.

"No! You always forget to charge it! I'll go to bed, I promise."

"Fine." Luke walked over and looked at James' phone. The hair on the back of James' neck stood up.

Luke squinted. "Are you watching those videos about kids eating things? You stayed up late for that?"

James relaxed. He forgot his dad couldn't see good without his glasses. "They put up a new episode about kids eating durian. Somebody puked!"

Luke rolled his eyes. "I don't get you, sometimes," he said with a smile. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to James' head. "Watch those kids puke tomorrow. I don't wanna hear anything about you being tired in the morning, okay? Goodnight."

"Night dad!" James replied.

James listened to the house creak as his dad walked away. If he had gone upstairs to be with mom, James would've heard the stairs creak and the sound of him in the hallway. Instead, James heard the soft sounds of the TV come through his door.

James checked the window for what felt like the 100th time to see if Steve and Kwan were home yet. Auntie Lane's car was still missing from the driveway so Mr. Cho hadn't brought them back from school yet. He squished a couple of french fries between his fingers as he waited. Dad's place didn't have WIFI and he didn't feel like using up all his data waiting. Just when it felt like he was going to die of boredom, the minivan rolled up and Steve and Kwan jumped out.

James grabbed his book bag and ran up to the counter. "Dad!" he yelled, "I'm gonna go hang out with Steve and Kwan."

Luke nodded, "Okay, look both ways before you cross the street. And call me when you're ready to go home."

"And put your hat on!" his dad yelled after him.

James dutifully looked both ways before crossing the street. He cut through the town square and met Mr. Cho at the door.

"Hey, James, go right on in, the boys are in the basement."

James shook the snow off his boots and walked downstairs where Steve and Kwan were on the floor surrounded by baby clothes.

"What're guys doing?" James asked, sitting down next to them.

"Grandma's here," Kwan said with a roll of his eyes.

"She's making us fold all this stuff for the baby," Steve said.

"She keeps feeding us tofu and pickled radish and slimy stuff! I haven't eaten an Oreo in forever!" Kwan said.

"She's starving us!" Steve said.

James rolled his eyes. Kwan and Steve were such babies. "My mom said that your mom was supposed to have the baby already."

"She was, but the baby's late? Henry said that if the baby doesn't come out by herself that they have to go to the hospital and take her out." Steve said.

"Is that how it works?" James asked.

"I dunno," Kwan said as he pulled a bag of M&M's out of his pocket. "I think so."

James happily accepted the candy offered to him. "What's your sister's name?"

"Amanda," Steve said. "I can't remember her other name."

"I think it's Mi-something," Kwan said.

"You guys need help?" James asked, picking up a shirt.

"Sure."

James folded a sock and half before speaking again. "Can I ask you guys something?"

Steve and Kwan shrugged.

"What's it like for your parents to break up forever?"

"What?" Steve replied.

"Divorced," James said when he finally had the strength, "What's it like for them to be divorced?"

Kwan shrugged. "It's fine."

"Yeah," Steve said, "It's not bad."

"It doesn't suck that your dad doesn't live with you anymore?" James asked.

"We see dad all the time. Plus, we don't even remember when he moved out. We were like, 5."

"I remember," said Steve.

"No, you don't, idiot," Kwan replied.

"Shut up, butthead! I do! It did kinda suck when dad moved out and it kinda sucked when mom and dad started dating and stuff cause I thought they would have new babies and forget about us."

"Man, you were a super crybaby back then. But then dad gave you that book, remember?" Steve said.

"Right! Mom read it to us every night for forever! It was called "Mom Home, Dad Home."

Kwan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Is your friend's mom and dad getting a divorce or something?" he asked.

James swallowed. "Uh-huh. He's really sad about it."

Born and bred in Connecticut, Lorelai thought she could handle the cold. But the chill that swept between her and Luke after the appointment made the winter blast outside feel like the Sahara Desert. She thought things were okay now. Luke had been there for her. He held her hand and drove her home and held her during an embarrassing cry session in the bathroom. It was hard to pinpoint when things had turned upside down, but it was like living with a ghost. Often, Lorelai would lie awake at night, waiting for Luke to crawl in bed beside her and hold her close. She always woke up alone.

The last time Lorelai felt this cold, alone, and cast aside in her own home was when her parents found out about Rory. Lorelai found it a little unfair that her uterus had turned her life upside down again. She should get a prize or something. When Luke flinched away from her when they reached for salt at the same time during breakfast, Lorelai knew what she had to do.

Like clockwork, Luke ambled into their bedroom to get ready for the day. He turned his back to her and made sure to stay 3 feet away at all times like she was a contagious spore. Sitting up in bed, she stared down at her hands and took a deep breath.

"How are we going to tell James?" she asked.

Luke pulled his shirt on over his head and turned around. "Tell James about what?"

"About us."

Luke looked even more confused. "What about us?"

"Luke, c'mon. We can't keep living like this. You can't even look at me sometimes. I know I barely graduated high school, but I'm not an idiot."

Luke's shoulders slumped before he shook his head. "You want to get a divorce."

"What I want is for you not to walk around here like I'm keeping you, prisoner." Lorelai sighed, "If that means divorce, then yes."

Luke ran a hand over his face before sitting down on the bed. "Not this again," he said.

"What?"

"This! This thing you do when you pretend that you're married to yourself. You decided we need to get a divorce. What's next, you're gonna decide where we're gonna be buried or when my next prostate exam's gonna be? Are you kidding me?"

"How am I supposed to know what you want when you don't even talk to me?"

"What I want is to not be afraid that every conversation we're going to have, is a lie." Luke rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. "But I don't know how I'm gonna do that," he said, staring down at his knees.

Lorelai didn't either. She bit her lip. "Sookie and Jackson went to a marriage counselor for a while after Jason was born."

"Yeah?"

"It was so bad that Jackson had found a lawyer and everything."

Luke didn't say anything. Lorelai ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head. "You don't have to if you don't want to, I–"

"Don't put words in my mouth again, Lorelai," Luke said, looking at her. "I'd never be able to forgive myself if our problems screwed up James. I'll try. For him."


	12. Chapter 12

Running into Mitchum put Logan in a mood. He grumbled around the penthouse, a dark cloud over his head and a frown on his face. When Rory emerged from the bathroom the only thing Mitchum left behind was a soggy cigar. Rory had tried to ask about what happened but Logan clammed up. Rory couldn't blame him. Knowing how to make you feel like garbage was one of Mitchum's special talents. After a few days of turmoil, Logan swept into the living room, a devious smile on his face. Rory glanced at him from behind her laptop.

"I see you're feeling better," she said.

"Yes, I am. You like Mexico?"

"Sure? It's a fine country?"

"So let's go."

"Go where?"

"Mexico, where else? Keep up, Ace."

"We're going to Mexico?" Rory parroted, " When?"

"Now!"

"Now? What about your job?"

"I pay good money for an HR department that hires people who can take care of themselves while I fuck off from time to time."

"Where would we even stay?"

"My summer house, where else?"

Rory shook her head, "I don't have a bikini."

Logan tossed a shopping bag in her lap. "Good thing I picked this up on the way home."

Rory peeked inside the bag and raised her eyebrows. She pulled out a couple of crocheted doilies held together with pieces of string.

"What is this?" she asked.

"A bikini."

"First, this is not a bikini. This is a lovely reason for me to get arrested for indecent exposure. Second, I can't run off to Mexico in the middle of the night. I have to let my mom know, plus I'm so close to getting a couple of interviews-"

Logan pressed a finger to her lips. "Last I checked, the only child your mom needs to check on is James."

Rory shook his finger from her lips, "What if I get an interview while we're away?"

"There is both WIFI and cell service in Mexico, believe it or not. If those assholes can't wait until we get back to meet you in person, that's their loss."

Another protest bubbled up in Rory's throat before she stopped herself. Things on the job search front had been a little slow. Plus, there were only so many lies that she could tell her mom about her new "job".

"You're lucky that I'm obsessed with keeping my passport up to date," she said, pulling Logan down on the couch next to her.

Logan pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her lips. "As badly as I would love to have you model that bikini for me, we have a plane to catch. Start packing."

Rory looked up from her phone and furrowed her brows at the green sign informing her that she had just entered New Jersey.

"Logan," she said, nudging him with her elbow, "I think your driver is going the wrong way."

"Oh?" he replied.

"You're very calm for someone whose car is going the direct opposite of JFK terminal," Rory said.

"Who said we were flying out of JFK?" Logan replied.

"LaGuardia isn't in New Jersey either."

"You're so cute," Logan said, reaching over to pinch her cheek, "Don't tell your grandparents waited in line at JFK for their private jet to take off."

"Private jet?"

"Of course. It's 2018. Who flies commercial?"

Like a child, Rory pressed her face to the window and watched as the town car pulled into the airport tarmac. Rory stepped out of the car in shocked silence. She turned to Logan as he walked up beside her. "I can't believe you have a private jet."

"No," Logan said, throwing an arm around her shoulder, "We have a private jet. Check out that wing."

Rory squinted up at the wing of the jet and laughed. "That's not what I think it is."

"Yes, it is. Meet the Rory Citation Longitude."

"You're completely out of your mind!"

"Only for you, baby," Logan said with an over top grin.

Rory was so captivated by the sight of her name on the wing of the private jet, she missed Logan climbing the stairs up to it.

"Hurry up. I'd like to get both Rorys to join the mile high club."

Rory rolled her eyes before taking one step towards the jet stairs. "This isn't stolen, is it?" she asked with a smile.

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Emily Gilmore, is that you?"

"Shut up!" Rory yelled, running up the stairs after him.

New York City winters didn't feel too bad when they were spent in Mexico. The guilt Rory felt from being waited on hand and foot by the maids at Logan's villa took about 2 weeks to evaporate. Leaving New York was just what Rory needed. The sound and smell of the ocean energized her every morning. Whenever Logan decided that she was allowed out of bed, Rory jogged, did yoga and applied for more jobs than ever. Logan would take her out into the city, snatching up anything that caught her eye. Rory decided that she wouldn't mind coming back to the villa every year to get away from it all and recharge, she would need when she went back to work.

She had spent the morning sitting on the villa's porch and updating her resume. Through the open bay windows behind her, Rory could hear the maids bustling about and cleaning inside. Rory never let it be known to them that she was fluent in Spanish, she didn't see the point. Plus, she could hear the best gossip if she pretended she didn't understand. Rory heard the deep raspy voice of one of the usual maids, Maria, but couldn't recognize the voice of her companion.

"Hey," the new voice said, "Who's she? Isn't Mr. Huntzberger's wife blonde?"

"What do you expect? He's a man." Maria replied.

"Shameless, huh? Sitting there in his wife's clothes."

Maria laughed. "Shame? What do you need shame for when you're fucking a man who could buy and sell you? At least she's prettier than the last one, eh? Her ass matches her thighs!"

The two of them erupted into laughter. Rory touched her cheek and felt it burning hot. She was sure that if she caught sight of herself in the mirror, her face would be tomato red. She bit her lips and gathered up all her things. She walked through the foyer and felt the maids watch her as she grabbed a bottle of tequila and went upstairs. Rory tore off Odette's clothes and pulled on the clothes she wore on the jet. She opened the window and tossed the rightful Mrs. Huntzberger's clothes into the backyard.

Rory spent the rest of the morning drinking in angry silence until she passed out. When she woke up, the sun had set and she felt sticky and sour. Whatever fiery anger she had this morning had dissolved into bitterness. She went downstairs to the living room and found Logan on the couch, the sounds of a soccer match blaring.

"Hey you," he said patting the couch cushion next to him, "Feel like translating? I've been using context clues but a clown ran out into the field and I'm lost."

Rory sat down next to him and crossed her arms without saying a word. Logan let her sit there for a few moments before muting the TV.

"You okay?"

"We should go," Rory asked.

"Go where?"

"Back to New York. I have stuff to do." Even to Rory's ears, her excuse sounded bogus.

"Stuff?" Logan said with a laugh, "What stuff?"

"Stuff Logan! Go interviews, try to get some freelance assignments, work! Not everyone's daddy gave them a multi-million a year job fresh from college, you know. Can we just go?"

Logan shrugged and threw up his hands. "Fine. Pack your shit and be ready in 10 minutes," he said.

Rory watched him walk outside to the porch and light up a cigarette. He'd been trying to quit and Rory knew he only smoked when he was stressed. It made Rory feel a little better to know he was as unhappy as she was at the moment.

The plane ride home was spent in silence. The weather outside when they stepped out onto the tarmac was warmer than the space between them. The elevator ride up to her apartment was spent looking anywhere but each other. Rory opened her apartment door and stopped Logan from following her in.

Logan sighed. "Are you kidding me?"

"I told you I have stuff to do," Rory replied as she crossed her arms.

"Since when is throwing a tantrum 'stuff'?"

"I'm not throwing–!" Rory began to shout into the emptiness of the hallway. She bit her lip and lowered her voice. "I'm not throwing a tantrum."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Fine. Do whatever you want." Logan tossed his bag over his shoulder and walked to the elevator at the end of the hall.

"When you decide you want to act like an adult, feel free to drop by," he said, letting the elevator doors slid shut.

Rory found herself in a bit of a moral dilemma. Logan graciously gave her one of his many credit cards once hearing that Rory had less than $10 in her bank account. With the two of them being in the middle of a...fight, she wondered if it were right to keep using it. Wanting to force herself into productivity, Rory packed up her laptop and set out. Google Maps told her there was a French patisserie/cafe five blocks from the apartment. Two blocks in, the sky darkened. Rory had barely looked up before the rain started pouring. One drop of water and her laptop was done for. The nearest open shop turned out to be a Starbucks.

Despite being a coffee fanatic, Rory wasn't such a huge fan of Starbucks. Sometimes all she wanted was a cup of plain, tasty coffee, but all they sold were coffee flavored sugar and milk monstrosities. Rory grabbed a handful of napkins and squeezed the water out of her hair. The wind splattered the rain against the glass windows and didn't look to be stopping anytime soon. The Starbucks was packed with other 30-somethings hunched over their laptops. She tried to find an open spot with an outlet but saw nothing. The smell of prepackaged pastries made her stomach grumble. Maybe a table would open up after she got a muffin. Or two.

When it was her turn to pay Rory handed the cashier Logan's card.

"Can I see some ID?" the barista asked.

Rory's brain short-circuited. When she handed the card over she assumed that it would be the usual swipe and give back. Not this.

"It's not mine, it's my husband's," Rory replied.

The barista frowned and handed the card back. "I'm sorry, we've had a lot of credit card fraud lately so we don't take credit cards without ID anymore."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, she is." Another barista with a 'manager' pin said as she came up to the counter. "Now how will you be paying?"

That was a great question Rory did not have an answer to.

"I'll pay," a voice said from behind her.

Without looking back, Rory shook her head and threw up her hands. "No, it's fine. Put it back or something."

"No way," the voice said coming up and sliding a $20 bill on the counter. "I'll pay. What are friends for?"

Friends? Rory looked at the stranger and laughed. She didn't know how she didn't recognize that voice.

It was Jess!


	13. Chapter 13

In return for his chivalrous display at the counter, Jess got one hell of a hug. He pressed a wad of napkins to Rory's head and lead her to an open table.

"You look like a wet dog," he said.

Rory rolled her eyes but tried to wring her hair into the napkin. "Look who's talking," she replied swatting at his hair. "When's the last time you got a haircut?"

"When'd you?" he shot back with a crooked smile. "What're you doing back in the Big Apple, anyway? Word on the street is you moved back to Ye Olde Star's Hollow."

"A minor setback," Rory said, nibbling her muffin, "I needed to go back home and think about some stuff. I'm back and Paris is letting me stay with her until I find a new job."

"A new job? What happened to the Wall Street Journal?"

"I quit. I didn't feel like there was anywhere but down for me there."

Jess raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. "The hell are you staying with Paris for when you got a husband? Thanks for the wedding invite, by the way." he said, throwing air quotes around 'husband'.

"Keep up the attitude and you won't be invited to the actual wedding, jerk."

"Who's the guy? Some writer nerd? God forbid, an editor?"

If Rory rolled her eyes any more they would've popped out. "It's Logan. Remember him?"

"Mister Richie-rich? He did look like a pain in the ass to live with, but anything has to be better than Paris. You'd have a better time at Rikers."

"Hey!" Rory said, giving his arm a slap, "Paris is okay. She's married now, has a couple of kids-"

"She multiplied?" Jess asked, hand on his chest.

"Stop it!" Rory said, laughing. "She's calmed down. She has a Xanax prescription."

"Well God bless Big Pharma."

"What about you?" Rory said, giving his shoulder a nudge, "Your 7th graders still awful?"

"They're garbage. My 3rd-period class added me in a group chat talking shit about my first book."

"No way."

"Yep, its called 'Roasting Mr. Mariano'. Nothing makes you feel like less of a man than a 12-year-old telling me that Migos lyrics make more sense than my book."

"Who?"

"Don't Google them. Save yourself."

"Jesus. Have kids gotten meaner?"

"Worse, they got smartphones. Enough about my job and my shitty kids. How's the job search going?"

"It's going. Down the street, around the corner and then straight to hell. Thanks for asking." Rory sighed, "Maybe I've peaked. How sad is that? I did my best writing in my 20's. Nothing good is supposed to happen in your 20s."

"You sound desperate."

"I am."

Jess rubbed his chin before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "One of my old editors works at Buzzfeed, he's always looking for some new talent."

Rory tried to keep her face neutral. Buzzfeed? Buzzfeed? She was a Yale graduate who followed Barack Obama's rise to the White House who had five years of professional journalism at one of the top newspapers in the world. And Jess thought working at Buzzfeed was a good suggestion? Her grandparents didn't spend $130,000 at Yale so she could make quizzes and tweet all day.

"Do you want me to give him the heads up about you?" Jess asked.

Rory didn't want to rude when Jess was trying to help. She nodded. "Sure, I'll text you the link to my portfolio."

Jess snorted. "Don't worry about it. Your mom made your portfolio her email signature. I can find it."

"Sure and when we go back to Stars Hollow we can pass around the laminated copies of your books Luke keeps at the counter," Rory replied with a smile.

Jess rolled his eyes. "God, those guys are dorks."

––––––

In the middle of rewriting her list of possible articles to think about starting to write, Rory's cell phone rang. Thinking it was her mother, she picked up without looking.

"Hello?"

"Rory Gilmore. It has been months since my husband put you up in that apartment and you don't even have the decency to show your face at my home. Do you hate me?"

Rory blinked and tried to catch up to the conversation. "Paris? Is that you?"

"Who else could it possibly be Rory? The Dalai Lama? Why haven't you been coming to dinner at my house? My house is amazing. I have a yard."

"And you also have a job. I've been busy looking for one of those, Paris."

"Ah, so you're poor. Probably thousands in credit card debt, barely able to feed yourself. Lucky for you, you have me. It's pizza night. Don't wear anything you aren't willing to burn. See you at 7, I'll text you the address."

Rory stared down at her phone. She was going to dinner.

The taxi to Paris' Queens home cost a ridiculous amount of money. At least Rory had a late start to credit card debt to put on her resume. The last time Rory visited Paris' home, she had been terrified of touching anything. Paris and Doyle's two-bedroom apartment in Williamsburg had been white. Really white. White hardwood, white granite, white couches. It was more mental institution than modern European living. The actual dinner had been delicious when Rory could get her food passed the lump of terror in her throat. Three months pregnant and weaning off her anxiety meds, Paris had been liable to snap at any moment. Rory considered all the nervous clenching she had done during the two-hour visit one hell of a workout. Five years out, Rory wondered how Paris' efficient, spartan way of living translated into a pair of kids.

When the car pulled up in front of the house, Rory thought it was a mistake. The red brick townhouse looked so...normal. There was no giant glass windows or white anything. There were even a couple of disintegrating snowmen on the lawn. Rory had been expecting something designer, something chic. Not the back page feature in Better Homes and Gardens. Rory rang the doorbell and smiled at Paris when she opened the door. She opened her arms for a hug.

"Stop." Paris barked. "Are you up to date on your shots? Flu? HPV? TDap?"

"Uh-yes?"

"I don't believe you." Paris stood aside and ushered Rory inside. "Shoes off put them in the tray over there."

Rory placed her shoes in the rubber tray next to a pair of Paw Patrol and Spiderman sneakers. Paris took her coat into the hall closet while Rory looked around. She was surprised. It looked like a house with kids. There were no white couches or gold, pointy accents hanging from the wall. Paris' degrees and family photos covered the pale yellow walls. There were toy buckets and soft couches and a cat in the living room!

"I can't believe you have a cat," Rory said, walking over to peer at the chubby tabby sleeping on the couch. "Didn't you call them 'fat useless freeloaders that caused millions of miscarriages a year'?"

"I stand by that statement." Paris replied, "But the kids found this fat bastard in the yard last month and now I'm stuck with him. Show me your hands."

"What?"

Paris jerked Rory's hands towards her and inspected them. "Hmm. You're fine. Next time, please trim your nails shorter. If my kids get the flu again, I will kill myself."

"Uh…"

The tabby cat's ear flicked back at forth at the sound of the front door opening. It slowly got up and jumped off the couch.

"Guys, guys, c'mon don't run through daddy's legs when he's holding pizza. Take off your shoes, put them in the tray." Rory and Paris followed the sound of Doyle's voice to the foyer where two short, blonde kids were sitting on the floor and petting the cat.

Doyle stepped over them and handed Paris the pizza box. "Welcome to the house of horrors, Gilmore."

"Mommy, can Fatty have pizza too?" Dexter asked.

Paris shook her head, "Remember I told you that Fatty can't have people food? Now leave Fatty alone and say hi to my friend."

Dexter and Cassandra jumped off the floor and in between the removal coats and hats and sound of Fatty meowing, they introduced themselves.

"Hello, I'm Rory," she replied, head spinning.

"Rory we have to wash our hands before we eat to get rid of germs. Did you wash your hands?" Cassandra asked, tugging her shirt and dragging her down the hall.

"Germs make you sick and can kill you!" Dexter said, following behind.

The twins jostled her from the kitchen sink to the dining room table where Doyle was laying out paper plates and napkins.

"Don't give me that look, Gilmore. You like washing pizza dishes on a Saturday night?"

Dexter and Cassandra scrambled into their seats.

"Sit next to me, Rory!" Dexter said.

"No, sit next to me!" Cassandra yelled.

Doyle picked up Dexter's chair and moved it to the other side of the table, leaving an empty chair between the two of them.

"Indoor voices, please."

Doyle was doling out pizza when Paris walked into the dining room with two plates of salad topped with a steaming hunk of salmon. She dropped one plate in front of Doyle and kept one for herself.

"I thought it was pizza night," said Rory.

"Not for us," said Paris, digging into her salad. "Chances of conceptions increase 33% when both parents are eating a diet free from processed foods and dairy."

"Another baby? Holy crap."

Cassandra and Dexter started 'oohing' at either side of her. "You said a bad word!" Dexter said.

"You gotta put money in the swear jar!" Cassandra said.

"Guys, Rory is a guest so she doesn't have to put money in the jar," Doyle said. "Gilmore, we just got them to stop calling kids at school the 'BS' word. Don't ruin this for us."

"Sorry, sorry."

"But yes," Paris said, "My eggs and Doyle's sperm are in their prime. This is the perfect time to have another child. My ovaries have never been so supple."

Rory glanced at Cassandra and Dexter sitting next to her. They were silently eating their pizza not affected at all by the talk of supple ovaries and healthy sperm.

"Don't worry about them," Paris said, "I don't believe in the stupidity of shielding children from the facts about the human body. They know how babies are made."

"Rory, I have ovaries too!" Cassandra said.

"I don't," Dexter said with a pout. "But I have a penis! Look!"

"Dexter, no!" Doyle and Paris shouted.

–––––––

Rory stretched out on the floor and let Fatty paw at her stomach. Paris looked down at her from the couch.

"How am I this tired? All I did was watch you and Doyle bathe them," she said.

"Welcome to parenthood."

"And you're making another one? Insane."

"Not yet. I've been stuffing myself with nothing but twigs and berries but it's not happening. Doyle and I have been trying for 2 years." Paris said and stared at the ceiling. "I'm starting to think it's not going to happen."

"That's not true. You're a fertility doctor, you know stuff like that takes time."

"That's bullshit, Rory. We tell people that at first so they don't jump off a bridge because their body isn't doing one of the most fulfilling things in the world. I think its too late for me."

"Too late for what?" Rory asked as she sat up. "You already have two great kids."

"Rory, you don't understand. My kids aren't just great, they're amazing. They have more friends at five years old than I did at twenty-five. They're so well-adjusted and happy that I'm going to spend money I budgeted for their middle school re-doing my kitchen or something. Doyle's sperm is magic. I can't make another kid like that by myself. I don't want to fail at this."

"Paris, come on. Cassandra and Dexter aren't happy and healthy because of Doyle's sperm. It's you. You and Doyle. You guys are great parents."

"You sound like my therapist."

"You are! Paris you could adopt a feral child and turn their life around."

"Really?"

"Of course."

"Of course." Paris murmured as she crossed her arms. "Okay, I'll do it."

"Do what?"

"Adopt a child. I am going to adopt a child and test the hypothesis on whether nature or nurture created my great kids. This was such a great idea."

"Paris," Rory said getting up off the floor, "That's not what I was saying! You can't adopt a kid as an experiment, you're not a mad scientist."

"Rory, don't try to be humble. When I get my new kid, it's middle name will be Lorelai." Paris replied slapping her on the back.

Doyle walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. "If I have to listen to baby shark one more time, I will walk into traffic. Not kidding." he glanced at the tow of them. "What'd I miss?"

"Doyle, we're adopting a child to prove the superiority of our parenting skills. You in?"

"If it means I can eat like a human being again, then I'm in."

"You guys, I feel like we got off track somewhere–"

"I can't sleep! Hold me!" Cassandra said as she ran into the living room.

"Hold me too!" Dexter said.

Paris and Doyle opened their arms and grabbed a kid Rory couldn't explain the way her chest tightened when she saw how Paris stared down at Dexter. Rory was sure she'd never seen Paris so relaxed. The woman managed to have a face of pure misery even in her sleep.

"It going to be a three-song type of night," Doyle said, petting Cassandra's hair. "Let me walk you to the door, Gilmore."

"No, it's okay," Rory said, "I know where the door is."

"Bye Rory!" Dexter said with a wave.

"Bye! I like your big head, Rory!" Cassandra said.

Rory laughed and waved back. Even though she hadn't called for a Lyft she still put on her coat and walked outside She stopped under a streetlamp the next block over to wait for one. Paris had changed since graduation. She had been a neurotic workaholic, violently searching for the affection and acclaim she had never received from her parents. Now, she was a mother and a wife and a successful, happy businesswoman. Rory wanted to turn around and beg Paris to tell her how. How did she manage to do any of that? How did Lane? Or Jess or, anyone?

Most all, she wanted to know when the hell it was going to happen to her.

Hey, Bleepbloop95 here. Just wanted to let everyone know (so nobody's precious time is wasted!) that my endgame for this fic is for Rory to end up single. I would say more but it would kind of spoil it. I just don't want anyone to be upset when Rory doesn't end up with anyone. Thank you for all of the lovely comments for the past few months. They encourage me to keep writing.


	14. Chapter 14

Logan wasn't in the best mood. The idea of Mitchum being in the same city as him put him in a permanent state of agitation, his maid had rearranged his entire kitchen and now he was drinking aged scotch straight from the bottle like a teenage idiot. He lit a cigarette and walked onto the balcony. Logan flicked the ash onto the city below and sighed. He hadn't spoken to Rory in days. The look of hurt on her face when the elevators slid shut was burned into the back of his eyelids, but he was too old to play games with her. He took another drag of his cigarette before tossing it over the balcony. If Logan kept thinking about what Rory was doing and how Rory was feeling he would be following his cigarette over the balcony. Logan grabbed the overnight bag he hadn't bothered to unpack and called for a car.

It was time to go home.

A giant caricature of Mitchum taped to the foyer wall greeted Logan as he opened the door to his loft. Mitchum's massive head was peering into a baby crib where a stack of cash was swaddled and laying on a pillow.

"Do you like it? I'm thinking about hanging it above our bed."

Odette walked out of the kitchen, an ornery chihuahua nestled in her arms and a wide grin on her round face.

Odette Huntzberger, née Collins was the daughter Stephen Collins, BBC's director of News and Current affairs and Margaret Collins, née Buxton, daughter of the Baron Noel-Buxton. On paper, Odette was nothing if not the perfect English rose. Mitchum had suggested that he was willing to give Logan a place at his newest media acquisition on his return to America if he took an interest in her. Logan didn't find it a hardship, he had been getting sick of London anyway.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that Odette Collin, granddaughter of Baron William Buxton III, was a complete asshole. At their first meeting, arranged by Stephen himself, she was an hour late, wearing stained overalls and sporting a newly shaved head. She looked nothing like the stoic young blond in the picture Mitchum had emailed him the week before. Odette had spent the evening trying to turn him off. She put her dirty feet on the dinner table, cursed, and, called him a 'pasty cunt' loud enough to scandalize the patrons around them. It was the most fun he'd ever had.

Despite her obvious disgust with him, when he asked her out again, she accepted. After two months of being subjected to Odette's sour face, Logan finally asked why she kept accepting his invitations. Odette, in turn, asked why he continued to ask out a woman who obviously thought he was an absolute knob. Logan told the truth, his father promised him a good position back home if everything worked out. Odette told her truth. She was a 29-year-old fine arts major whose parents were through were her being "childish". Her paintings weren't selling and her parents had threatened to cut her off unless she fell in line and did what all upper-class English women did. Marry and marry well. Logan was the only man that her father had hand-picked that hadn't run scared.

Logan had informed her that a buzzcut and a few naughty words weren't going to scare off an all American boy like him. Odette had warmed up to him after that. Four months in, they fell into a comfortable FWB, relationship much to their parent's delight. Seven months in, Odette asked him if his family had any heirloom engagement rings because her father didn't find "commercial" rings up to snuff. A year and a month after their first date, Odette Collins became Odette Huntzberger. Odette repaid her mother's wedding gift of a vintage christening gown by getting an IUD and moving to New York.

Logan couldn't pinpoint the exact moment in their two-year marriage when it happened, but it happened. Having been on the other end of several lovestruck women, he couldn't ignore the fact that Odette had fallen in love with him. Now Logan was an asshole but he wasn't cruel. When he saw the hurt in her eyes when he mentioned sleeping with someone else, he stopped mentioning it. When he heard her say "I love you," for the first time, Logan said it back. Logan was sure that eventually, he'd love her. He cared for her and wanted her to be comfortable and happy. She was the best outcome of the situation his father had dropped him in.

Logan laughed and ripped the poster off the wall to take a closer look at it. "Yeah, nothing gets me going like dear ol' daddy watching over me."

Odette rolled her eyes and let the chihuahua trot off into the apartment. "Spoilsport. You know for a man who just spent three weeks in California you're paler than all of Ireland."

Odette wrapped her arms around him and pressed a kiss to his neck. Logan buried his nose in her hair and breathed in the smell of turpentine, coffee, and the cigarettes she swore she quit. He pressed a kiss to her lips.

"It's cute that you think they let me out of that conference room to enjoy the weather."

"While you were working on your tan, I was stuck here with your mum," Odette replied.

"She was here?" Logan asked hanging up his coat and kicking off his shoes.

"You bet. And look at all the nice things she brought me, every day for the last week," Odette said. She walked into the living room and handed him a stack of designer baby clothes magazines.

"Jesus Christ," Logan muttered, flipping through the pages filled with rolly-polly babies.

"There are $600 cloth nappies in one of those things. Does she think that because I have a few tattoos I'd want to spend my time playing with baby shit?"

"I'm more shocked that my mother was sober enough to remember where we lived."

Logan tossed the magazines on the couch and dragged his overnight bag into the living room. He dug out the souvenirs he picked up in Mexico and held out the bag to her.

A happy blush spread across Odette's cheek as she snatched the bag out of his hands. "I thought you said they never let you out of the conference room."

"They didn't," he said with a smile, "But my assistant was free to go through your Instagram and then pick up something nice on the pain of losing his job."

Odette pulled out a bag of mixed metal and loose turquoise and amber stones. "He noticed that you've been into making your own jewelry lately."

"These are beautiful, are they real?" Odette asked.

"Just as real as the charge on my card." Logan checked his watch. "You eat yet? I love Mexican food but I don't think my stomach can take any more stress."

"I could definitely go for some sushi. Let me put these away and change out of my joggers and we can go."

Odette pinched his cheek before hopping off the couch. The dog followed behind her, stopping to bark at Logan on the way. Logan couldn't understand why the people at the pound had named that little bastard Sweetheart. He picked up one of the baby magazines and sighed. He could tell that Odette was warming up to the idea of starting a family. Logan had been preparing for it, he had been slowing down. Not as many women, not as many drinks, and not as many nights out. He didn't want his kid, whatever it turned out to be, to grow up like him. He wanted to be the dad he always wanted.

Logan had been happy enough. He thought he had come to terms with raising kids and growing old with Odette but being with Rory made him realize he hadn't. Odette was a choice he didn't make in a long list of choices he didn't make. If he had the choice, he wouldn't have chosen her. He would've chosen Rory.

All his life, every choice that shaped his future was taken from him. He deserved to choose Rory, no matter how frustrating she was being. If it was the end, then so be it, but it was going to be on his terms. Not Mitchum's.

Rory wondered how it was possible to live in the same building as someone and never see them. Either Logan had died or was doing a fantastic job at avoiding her. Trying to distract herself by looking for a job wasn't working because she couldn't find anything. Her days were filled with Netflix, pizza, and walking around.

After a walk to cheer her up from another rejection, Rory was standing in the elevator, debating on whether or not she wanted to ride up to the penthouse and see if Logan would open his door. The elevator dinged and the doors began to slide shut before a hand stuck out and held them open. Logan walked inside and stood next to her.

"Fancy seeing you here," Logan said with a smile. He pushed the penthouse button.

Rory stared at him. He was smiling casually like he hadn't frozen her out for a week and a half.

"Is that all you have to say to me?" she asked.

Logan raised an eyebrow, "Do you want me to say something else?"

"Maybe you can explain why you've been ghosting me for a week."

"Ghosting, look at you using big kid words."

"Logan."

"What do you want me to say?" Logan said with a shrug, "I didn't have to sit around and wait for you."

"That's not what I'm asking you to do, Logan. I needed to talk to you."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open on the arrival to the top floor. Rory jabbed the 'door close' button.

"We can talk later," Logan said, pressing the 'door open' button.

"No, you're here now so we're going to talk now," Rory said closing the door again.

"Fine," Logan said as he crossed his arms. "Talk."

"I'm sorry for," Rory sighed, "Throwing a tantrum in Mexico and acting like an idiot. The maids said something–"

"Oh my god," Logan muttered.

"Let me finish, please. She was talking about your wife and all the other women you brought to the villa and Logan I was wearing her clothes."

"Whose clothes?"

"Odette's clothes, you gave me her clothes to wear and I felt so gross and crappy for sleeping with a married man. I freaked out."

Logan pressed the 'door open' button and walked Rory to the door of his penthouse. "This married man thing, again? Seriously?"

"It's not just that, you gave me your wife's clothes, Logan."

Logan pulled Rory inside and shut the door behind him. "What do we want me to do, Rory? Do you want me to call Odette and let her tell you that she doesn't care that you're sleeping with me?"

"God, no!" Rory rubbed her hands down her face and sat down on the couch. "I just don't want to a homewrecker twice before I'm 35."

Logan sat down next to her "There's no home to wreck, Rory."

"Why didn't you tell me that I was wearing Od-, her clothes?" Rory asked.

"Because I knew you would freak out. Why didn't you tell me about what the maids said?"

"Because I knew you would freak out and fire them or something!"

Logan laughed softly. "We're just a couple of freaks, then."

"I'm sorry."

"How about this, we're both sorry. We're both idiots who probably should be in therapy. But we can't keep not telling each other stuff because we're afraid to freak each other out. We're not kids anymore. We pay taxes."

"Yeah, so many taxes," Rory replied with a watery smile.

Logan curled his fingers around Rory's. "Are we good?" he asked.

"We're good," Rory said, squeezing his hand.

Rory took a deep breath, "Wow, we should get an award for being the most well-adjusted couple in New York. We should celebrate with pizza. Your treat?"

Logan frowned. "I wish I could, Ace but I have to pack. It's holiday season, Odette and I have to make the rounds. We're flying to London in the morning."

"Oh."

Logan threw an arm around her shoulder, "Don't look so sad. It's only for 2 weeks. Then, I fly back to Connecticut to celebrate Hanukkah and dance on my grandfather's grave."

Logan laughed at the horrified look on Rory's face, "Oh come on, you didn't even like him!"

Rory helped Logan pack and waited in the lobby with him for his taxi. When the car pulled up to the curb, Rory briefly thought about dragging Logan back to his apartment and keeping him hostage. She gave him a kiss goodbye and stood on the sidewalk until the taillights disappeared. The ride back up to her apartment was lonelier than she thought it would be. Rory's phone beeped upon the arrival of a new email.

From: sashaeliot: octomedia . com

Hi Lorelai,

Happy holidays from everyone at Octomedia. We have an opening for a writer at our New York offices, starting in the new year. Are you free to chat?

Thanks!

Sasha

Rory reread the email waiting for the burst of relief and tingle of excitement to run up and down her spine. She guessed she spent all of her happiness on a man who was spending Christmas with his wife. Rory closed her apartment door behind and headed to the kitchen to heat up some leftover pizza. She'd reply tomorrow.


	15. Chapter 15

Cut, stab, chew.

Cut, stab, chew.

Emily's life now revolved around repetition. Everything was on a schedule. Breakfast at 8. A brisk walk around the neighborhood at 10. Brunch at 11. Lunch at 12:30. A car trip into Greater Hartford 1. Dinner at 6. Nightcap at 8. Bed by 9:30. There wasn't much else to fill her days. The DAR was only on Thursday afternoons and Friday night dinners were hardly anything to write home about. Emily had to hand it to Lorelai. She did a very good job of pretending she wasn't throwing a 3-course tantrum with her family on either side of her.

Lorelai had an amazing talent of twisting everything Emily did into an attack. For a natural brunette, Lorelai managed to be one hell of a red-headed child. Outside of the barely polite Friday night dinners, neither Luke nor Lorelai could find time out of their busy lives to sit down and hash out their disagreement. And Emily would be damned if she was going to galavant around Stars Hollow begging for their audience. Emily obviously struck a nerve in Lorelai by confusing pregnancy with her newfound infertility. There _were_ other reasons to frequent a doctor and Emily herself hadn't taken her female evolution the best but, Lorelai's actions bordered on hysterical!

The thought of trying to explain to the DAR why her family wasn't in attendance at her annual Christmas party put her off her dinner. Plus, the meat was bland. Emily drained her wine glass and dabbed at her lips with a linen napkin. Her hip smarted as she rose from her chair. Her doctor recommended that she start wearing orthopedic sneakers to help with the pain. Emily told him she would die before she wore orthopedic sneakers. As she climbed the stairs to the second floor, she walked deeper and deeper into the only constant companion she had had, since Richard's death.

Silence.

When Richard was alive, she always heard him. It used to annoy her that somehow in their massive home, she could hear him. She truly regretted not taking advantage of it when she had the chance. Emily knew it had been months since his death but she missed him. She missed the way she could hear him shouting in his office from the living room. She missed the way he would agonize over his hair going gray as they got ready for bed. She missed the sound of him. She missed the sound of sounds in her home. Emily paid good money not to hear her maids so she often spent long periods in silence. Reading in silence, eating in silence. She slept to silence and awoke to silence. Sometimes it was so quiet, Emily swore she could hear Richard walking in and out of his office. Emily crawled into bed and laid the duvet over herself.

––––––––

The sound of furious knocking jostled Emily awake. She fumbled to take off her sleeping mask to see one of her maids burst through the door.

"What the hell is going on?" Emily asked with a glare.

The maid froze and her mouth flopped about like a guppy.

"Well? Speak! I don't hire anyone without a high school education so I know you understand English."

"Y-you didn't come down for breakfast or take your walk and it's 2:30 and Gertrude hadn't heard you move and–"

"Who?"

"The cook?"

"For heaven's sake, what are you babbling about?" Emily asked, sitting up in bed.

"I um, wanted to make sure everything was, um, okay?"

Emily would put it down to sleep muddling her brain for being so slow on the uptake, but she eventually realized what the maid was implying.

"Sorry to disappoint you but I am alive and well. Now get out of my bedroom. Go fold something."

The maid nodded before shuffling backward and closing the door after her. Emily sighed and checked her bedside table. The maid had been right, it was well past 8 am, if her alarm clock was correct. The nerve of that girl, thinking she had died in her sleep. Emily bet that they were putting away the champagne now that news that she was still alive had spread. Late as it was and as tired as she felt, Emily couldn't spend all day lying around in bed. She was a widow, not a showgirl.

Emily got dressed and sat down to a late lunch. As she worked her way through a piece of grilled salmon and a side of mixed greens, she could feel herself becoming more and more agitated at the pair of eyes glued to her back. Usually, her maids looked at the floor or left the room when she was eating, but the maid from this morning was burning a hole in her back. Not being able to stand it much longer, Emily left the rest of the meal behind. It was bland anyways. The burning stare followed her around the house. The maid continued to hover on the other side of every door she was on. She took the car out for a drive and when she returned there was that maid, waiting to take her coat and following her into the sitting room.

Emily tried her best to ignore her but two minutes into the DVD of _La Bayadere_ she couldn't stand it any longer.

"You," she said, standing up and pointing to the maid, "Follow me."

Emily walked into Richard's office and sat behind the desk. The maid stood by the door, hands clasped in front of her.

"Sit," Emily ordered as she nodded at the chair on the other side of the desk.

Emily leaned over the desk and raised an eyebrow. "Who are you?"

"Sandra Sandberg," she replied. The one time Emily wanted this girl to look at her, she was looking everywhere but. Typical.

"All right, Sandra, would you like to tell me why you've been following me around like some sort of obnoxious shadow?"

Sandra peeked up at Emily before brushing strands of red hair from her face.

"I, um-"

"Spit it out. You obviously think I'll drop dead at any moment so I don't have time to wait."

"I-I'm worried."

"Excuse me?" Emily asked.

"Mr. Gilmore always told us to leave him alone when he was working but, um, he was all by himself when he, he had his heart attack and Betsy didn't go look for him because he didn't like to be disturbed and then she went to get him for lunch and-"

Emily swallowed around the lump in her throat. "She found him?" Emily asked.

"Yes. I helped her call the ambulance."

Emily span her chair around and waved Sandra away. "You can go."

The door clicked shut and the floors groaned as Sandra walked away. Between her tears, she made a note to have a carpenter come by and do something about that dreadful creaking.

––––––

The next day, Emily made a point to put her alarm clock on the loudest setting and then put 2 more alarms on her smartphone, as James had taught her. She woke up in time for breakfast and a short walk around the neighborhood. Still, Sandra continued to lurk in the corner of any room she was in. It was a blessing when an old friend from college wanted to meet up for a bite to eat. Much as she criticized Lorelai for letting James run wild with the internet, the way Facebook enabled you to find all your old friends was charming.

"Mitzy," Emily said, rising from her chair, and opening her arms, "It's so good to see you."

Mitzy, gray hair cut into a bob and skirt too high for a woman of her age, returned the hug with vigor. "It's good to see you too, Emily."

Mitzy sat down and sighed. "Well, I see you're still a redhead. Never took my advice about being blonde, then?"

"Couldn't have been that fun, you've let yourself go completely gray," Emily said and a raised eyebrow. She waved over a waiter, "Would you like a drink?"

"Oh no, the only cocktail I'm allowed to have is in my pillbox, dear."

"Well I think I'll have a gin and tonic," Emily replied. The waiter took their orders and left them to themselves. "I'm so sorry about Richard," said Mitzy.

It had taken Emily 3 months before any condolences about Richard didn't send her into the bathroom for a quick cry. Even now, she could feel the corners of her eyes sting with tears.

"Thank you, Mitzy. It's been hard but my family and I are taking it day by day."

"Lovely, lovely! Who's your therapist? My Briony recommended me to this lovely woman near my-"

"Oh, I'm not in therapy Mitzy. I don't do that sort of thing."

The waiter placed their meals on the table in front of them.

"Why?" Asked Mitzy over her plate.

"What do you mean?"

"Why aren't you in therapy? It's been such a great help."

Emily shook her head and sliced through her lamb. "I don't think those sorts of things would help me very much."

"Oh yes. I can see you demanding a refund if they didn't tell you that your mother's terrible taste in interior design scarred you for life."

Emily laughed. "Well, it did. I've only just been able to look at paintings with bowls of fruit. It's been a journey."

Emily's giddiness turned to annoyance as she chewed through her food. The food was so bland! She was not going to pay $37 for a plate of lamb that tasted like a wet sock.

"Unbelievable," she muttered wiping her lips.

"What is it dear?" Mitzy asked.

"This lamb is awful. It's completely tasteless." Emily waved her waiter over, "Please take this back to the chef, it's no good. Absolutely bland."

The waiter nodded and took it away.

"How long are you going to be around, by the way?" asked Emily.

"Not too long. I popped by to see whoever is still alive. I'll be flying back down to Florida soon."

"How is Florida by the way? I've been thinking about getting a summer cottage-"

"M'am," the waiter said, interrupting their conversation, "The manager wanted me to ask if you're possibly taking any medication that could cause a change in taste? He knows that some medications our older clientele take may have that side effect."

"Excuse me? I don't have to be a spring chicken to realize that the food that I was served was more suited for the Burger King. Let your manager know that I will be taking this place off of the DAR's catering list for the near future. Bring our coats and the check. _Now_."

"I didn't realize I would be getting dinner and a show," Mitzy said with a laugh.

–––––––

"The waiter was probably right, you know," Mitzy said.

Emily had taken them to a designer boutique a few blocks away. Retail was Emily's preferred kind of therapy.

"Right about what?"

"About it being you, not the lamb."

"Please, I'm barely on any medications."

"So you're telling me that that lamb was the only bad meal you've had lately?"

"Well…" "Let's face it, honey, we're old. I've been adding so much extra salt to my food that my maids have starting hiding the salt shakers at dinner."

Emily didn't respond. Suddenly this vintage pearl necklace looked more and more appealing. Emily, of course, wasn't ignoring her age. She had a mirror. She updated her will every three months. She had stopped her botox treatments years ago. Emily quickly switched conversation topics to the wedding of Mitzy's granddaughter. She wondered what it was like to have a granddaughter who's head wasn't harder than a slab of concrete.

"Emily, it was lovely seeing you again," Mitzy said as the town car pulled up to her hotel.

"It was. We have to do this more often. Maybe I'll come down to Florida soon." Emily replied pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Fabulous! We'll take a day trip on my yacht."

Emily waved at her through the car window before telling her driver to pull out. Usually, on a car ride home, Emily would stare out the window at the city outside. But the sun had set and there was nothing but blue-black darkness and blurry storefront lights. She dug around in her pocketbook and pulled out her phone, a business card falling into her lap at the same time. She turned on the overhead light and read it.

Breaking Trail Therapy Group. Emily raised an eyebrow at the Connecticut location that had been circled aggressively. Emily tucked the business card away.

Mitzy had always been crafty.


	16. Chapter 16

Currently, Suki's kitchen was putting every commercial bakery and restaurant to shame. Hell, it was putting all Gordon Ramsay's cooking to shame. Suki stood at her kitchen island, aggressively chopping her, thirteenth onion.

"I'm such a bad friend," Suki said, tears rolling down her face, "How could I not notice? You noticed I was pregnant before I knew I was pregnant but I couldn't even tell that you were having problems with Luke!"

The kitchen timer went off and Suki pulled out a tray of chocolate chip cookies. She slid them onto an already crowded cooling rack and pulled even more cookie dough out of the fridge. The stove, oven, stand mixer, blender, and food processor had been running non-stop since Lorelai had told Suki about what was going on between her and Luke.

"Suki it's not a big deal."

"It's a huge deal," Suki said as she threw her hands up. "I've been such a bad friend lately that you didn't think you could talk to me about this. And I didn't even notice!"

Suki sniffled and dropped the bowl of cookie dough on the counter. She ran back to the cutting board and started hacking away again.

"Okay, okay, okay," Lorelai said taking the knife out of Suki's hands. "Let's cool it with the knife skills here. I don't think our guests want to have their food cooked by Captain Hook."

Lorelai turned Suki around so that they were face to face. "This wasn't a Suki problem. This was a Lorelai problem. All the screws in my head came loose all at once. You're a great friend."

Suki wiped her eyes. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"Really?"

"Suki, if you say 'really' one more time I will use that knife on you."

Suki burst into tears again. At the alarmed look on Lorelai's face, Suki smiled. "Oh no, don't worry, I'm happy, I wiped onion juice into my eyes."

Lorelai sighed and walked Suki to the sink. While Suki rinsed her eyes, Lorelai turned off the oven, the stand mixer, and the stove. Grabbing a spoon, Lorelai picked up a bowl and started digging in. Lucky for her, it was a bowl of buttercream.

Suki walked up next to her, patting her face with a dishtowel. "And things are okay now?"

"Not really. Luke's not taking it well. Not that he should, either! It's–we're all messed up. It's like I'm in my 30's again but with more grays and less stamina."

"What're you gonna do?"

Lorelai sighed. "I told him about how you and Jackson went to counseling after Jason was born and he wants to try."

Suki grabbed Lorelai's hand.

"That's good. That's the first step, it means that things can work out."

"Suki, they have to work out. I know I screw things up all the time and I'm okay with it, but I don't think I'll be okay this time."

"Don't say that! You don't screw things up all the time. Only most of the time." Suki replied with a laugh.

"Thanks," Lorelai replied with a roll of her eyes.

"I'm kidding, c'mon. But it's good that Luke wants to fix things with you. If he didn't even want to try, then it would be a problem. You guys will work it out."

"I hope so."

"Have you guys found a therapist yet?" Suki asked.

"No, and I don't even know where to start."

"Jackson and I didn't know where to start either," Suki said, turning the oven back on and using a cookie scoop to place dough balls on a baking sheet, "It was a mess! You remember what it was like before everyone was on Google! We tried this priest in New Haven who wanted to have me exorcised."

"Holy Regan MacNeil."

"And then there was a woman who was convinced that one of us had to have mommy issues-"

"Hold on. I didn't know about mommy, I thought there was only daddy."

"No, there's mommy, daddy, and get this, puppy issues."

"This conversation's getting real weird, real fast."

"Oh, and don't even get me started on the guy that we should try slapping each other to relieve tension."

"Suki! Can we take a hop, skip, and a jump, to the therapist who wasn't a psychopath who thought you were into older damaged, Pitbulls?"

"Oh yes, Dr. Chow."

"Dr. Chow?"

"Mhmm. She was so," Suki took a deep breath, "I can't describe it. She got us. She got us and got why we were weren't us and helped us figure us out. You get it?"

"No, I do not. In fact, I'm even more confused than before this conversation started."

"Give her a chance Lorelai. I think she can help you guys."

"Okay, but I'll find some other places too. Eggs-basket, you know."

"Ooh, speaking of eggs, maybe I'll put eggs benedict on the breakfast menu tomorrow. I'll text you Dr. Chow's address."

"Mmm, I smell onions!" Jackson said as he walked into the kitchen. He nodded at Lorelai who gave him a wave with her buttercream covered spoon. He popped a handful of chopped onions into his mouth. "Mmm! Is this last months' harvest? Planting them across from the potatoes is doing something really special–"

Jackson paused and looked around the kitchen. His eyes widened. "Oh my god, Suki what's wrong?" he asked.

"What? Nothing's wrong, silly."

"Don't lie to me Suki Bellview. Chopping onions so nobody knows you're crying? Homemade pesto, cookies?!"

"If you think that's bad, look at the cake she made. Five layers. Homemade ganache," Lorelai said from the table.

Jackson gasped. Suki smacked Lorelai on the shoulder and turned to Jackson.

"Honey, honey, calm down, everything's fine. "

Jackson sliced into the cake and gasped again. "Devil's food? Oh no. Are you dying?" He turned to Lorelai, "Are you dying?"

Suki opened her mouth to explain herself when Davey, Martha, and James, ran into the kitchen.

"Oh, sweet! Onions!" Martha said grabbing the bowl on the counter.

"Kids, those are crying onions, we have a crisis here!" Jackson said.

The three Bellview children swarmed Suki. Lorelai gave Suki a salute before grabbing her jacket and escaping out the back door.

Lorelai smiled at Dr. Chow's receptionist as she sat next to Luke.

Luke leaned over and whispered to her, "If this is anything like the last quack, I'm driving my car off a cliff."

"How was I supposed to know that her version of an introduction was telling us the name of her dildos?"

When Suki had texted her the address of Dr. Chow's, of course, Lorelai had to Google it. It wasn't that doubted Suki but, Breaking Trail Therapy Group? A therapist that operated a business having anything to do with nature couldn't be good for her and Luke. Lorelai and Luke had done some research (together, see she can learn!) to find a couples therapist. Lorelai didn't think it would be so hard. There were a lot of therapists in Connecticut who were not qualified to treat a porch let alone people. One good thing that came out of all these failed attempts was that with Luke focused on not strangling a therapist, he wasn't focused on the crapshoot that was their marriage. But every time they would step back into the house, a chasm of awkwardness and coldness opened up between them. The chasm shrank a bit when they came together to tell James about their mishaps during their search for therapists. James had taken their news of them going to counseling as well as a seven-year-old boy could. He had tried to hide the fact that the idea that they weren't getting a divorce didn't make him cry a little. Lorelai didn't pretend that she didn't buy him an extra-large pizza to stop up his tears with grease.

Luke rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. "I don't want to hear anything else about...those things today," he said.

"Aye, aye captain."

The door across from the receptionist's desk opened and a pair of women stormed out.

"I can't believe you're being like this," the brunette whispered.

"You can't believe me? I can't believe you're so comfortable with your mother hand washing our dildos!" her wife replied.

Luke closed his eyes and whispered, "Don't say anything."

A statuesque Asian woman with a low, tight bun walked out of the door and interrupted them. "Ladies, please. I understand that all your frustrations weren't addressed during our session but try to use the techniques we've talked about so far. Which includes not raising your voices and scaring my other patients."

The couple looked chastised before leaving.

"Well," the woman said, "That's not the way I planned on introducing myself, but welcome! I'm Dr. Esther Chow. Please, come in."

Luke and Lorelai followed Dr. Chow into her office. It was nice. Way nicer than the other offices that they had visited before. It wasn't that vintage Freudian horror of dark browns but it also wasn't the off white monstrosity that Dr. Dildo had tried to pass off as "soothing". Taking her eyes off the decor, Lorelai finally got a good look at Dr. Chow and she looked...young. Real young. Young enough that it might have been plausible that Lorelai had birthed her. She glanced at Luke who looked similarly concerned.

"Dr. Chow," Lorelai began.

"Please, call me Esther." "Okay, Esther. Not to be rude or anything, but uh, how old are you?"

Luke sighed.

Lorelai kept rolling on ahead. "You know, I don't wanna spend $80 an hour so someone born in the 90s can try to save my marriage. No offense."

Esther smiled. "None taken. I wouldn't trust a 90s kid to repave my driveway. But no need to worry. I'm 53."

Luke took his glasses case out of his jacket and put them on. "Wow," Luke said.

"Ditto," Lorelai said. "Now, is that a sold your soul to the devil 53 or bathe in the blood of virgins 53?" Lorelai asked.

"Neither. It's an I'm Asian and run six miles a day 53." Esther replied.

"Enough about me. Now, Mr. and Mrs. Danes, you're here because you want to be right?"

"Yeah," Luke said.

"Of course. We didn't drive an hour and a half to sit here and look pretty. Who even does that?" said Lorelai.

"You'd be surprised. When a couple comes into a session lopsided, as I like to say, I believe that it has less of a chance of working. I like to ask before I start, so no one's time gets wasted. If both of you aren't on the same page, I'll refund the cost of the first session."

Lorelai bit her lip. Esther let the silence grow to give either her or Luke a chance to leave.

"Good," said Esther with a smile. "Would either of you like to begin with telling me why you decided to try couples therapy?"

Luke and Lorelai shared a look, each urging the other to speak first. Luke raised a hand. "Ah–I'll go first. I don't feel like I can trust my wife anymore."

Lorelai swallowed.

Esther nodded. "Why do you think that, Luke?"

"She kept a huge secret from me and had her mother not opened her mouth, I never would have known. Lorelai would've never told me."

"Luke-" Lorelai began.

Esther stopped her. "Lorelai please let Luke finish."

"It was such a big thing and went on for so long, I feel like a dumbass for not noticing." Luke let out a breath. "Yeah. That's it."

"Okay. Lorelai. Why do you think you're here today?"

Lorelai looked down at her lap. "Because I'm kind of a shitty person, I guess? Luke's right. I kept a huge secret from him and ruined everything with the help of my dear mommy."

"Can I ask what this secret was, Lorelai?"

"Sure. I, hmm. I got pregnant. I thought I had cancer first but then there was a...baby. For a little while, at least. I was going to tell Luke but, things turned bad. Like really bad and I didn't want to, I– I don't know what I didn't want to do but I just wanted to get it over with and move on, you know. So I scheduled an abortion."

Esther nodded. "How did you find out Luke?"

"We went over to dinner at her mother's house and she gave us a stroller as a Christmas present or something. One of her nosy old friends saw Lorelai at a clinic or something."

"So you didn't tell your mother about this?" Esther asked.

"God no!" Lorelai said with a wobbly smile, "I didn't tell her. I would never. I didn't tell my best friend or even my daughter. I didn't want anyone to know."

"Was the learning about the abortion what hurt you the most, Luke?" Esther asked.

"No. No, it wasn't that. It was that she kept it all from me. The pregnancy, the problems, all of it! She shut me out and I don't know why."

"Because I'm an idiot, Luke."

"Lorelai," Esther began.

"No! Can't that be a reason? That I'm an idiot and you can help me learn how to be less of an idiot so that my husband doesn't hate me for the rest of this marriage?"

"I usually don't like to make rules during sessions, but I'm going to make one. No name-calling, not even at yourself." Esther said.

Lorelai and Luke lapsed into silence, the only sound being their heavy breathing.

Esther cleared her throat. "Lorelai, do you think Luke is telling the truth? Do you think that you keeping secrets from him affected him more than the abortion did?"

"Yeah, a little bit."

"Lorelai, are you serious? You think I'm that guy?"

"What am I supposed to think? You wouldn't touch me or look at me after."

"That's not it," Luke replied.

"Then what is it?" Lorelai asked. "Because I can't figure it out."

"It was not telling me. I didn't realize how crappy of a husband I was until you chose to do this all by yourself instead of telling me. I feel like shit."

"Crappy husband? Swing that back, this is crappy wife territory. You're a great husband, you've been a great husband for twenty years and we've only been married for ten."

"Lorelai, it's my fault, alright. Stop trying to take the blame."

"I'm taking what belongs to me, I'm a crappy wife!"

"No, I'm a crappy husband!"

Esther raised her eyebrows. "You guys are the first couple I've ever had who are arguing about who the worse spouse is."

"Is that bad?" Lorelai asked.

"No, just interesting." Esther glanced at the clock on the wall. "It looks like our hour is almost up. This was a very good first session. The offer for a refund still stands if you or Luke don't plan on coming back."

"No, we're coming back. I mean, if you want to," Lorelai asked, turning to look at Luke. "Yeah, I do," Luke replied.


	17. Chapter 17

"Rory, you're going to do great," Lane's said during their facetime, "You totally got this."

"You think so?" Rory replied, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face.

"Duh! You're a great writer."

Rory nodded, "You're right, I got this. I'm ready for this."

"Are you going with your hair like that?" Lane asked. "I feel like this dress needs an updo."

"I like it this way, it's fine."

Steve and Kwan's heads popped into view. "Hey guys," Rory said.

"Wish auntie Rory luck on her job interview, guys."

Kwan squinted into the screen. "Are you going with your hair like that?" he asked.

"Crap, you guys, Henry's coming. Here, eat the rest of mommy's pizza." Lane ripped what was left of her pizza in half and shoved it into Steve's mouth.

"Is there a party in here or what?" Henry asked, head dipping into view. walking into view. "Hey, Rory!"

"Rory has an interview today." Lane said, wiping her hands on her bulging belly.

Henry leaned closer to the camera, "With her hair like that?"

"Lane?" Mrs. Kim said walking into frame, "It's time to stretch, what are you doing?"

"Talking to Rory, mama. We're all wishing her luck on her job interview. Look," Lane replied shifting the camera view.

Mrs. Kim nodded, "Yes, good luck Rory. Yes, once you finish doing your hair, you will look perfect."

Staring at her reflection in the Lyft on the way to her interview, Rory had to admit that the Cho-Kim-Van Gerbig household had been right. A high pony had been the best choice. Somehow it made her lucky red dress even luckier if that was a thing. Rory was ready for this interview. Spending Christmas in Stars Hollow had energized her. She had been so relaxed that it had only stung partially when Emily had sent James back with a plain designer sweater as a present for her.

It was a new year. Logan was keeping her sane, despite being halfway across the world for business. Paris and Doyle were happy to have her over and she met up with Jess every once in a while. Once she got this job, Rory would finally be able to get her life back on track. After looking at the job description she was sent, Rory knew she more than qualified. Octomedia was a mid-sized but thriving media agency. They were expanding into social and current events and needed someone with her experience to help write about it. The salary was a little lower than she would have liked but she was sure she could negotiate it to a minimum of $70,000 a year.

Rory stepped out of the taxi and stared up at Octo Media's headquarters. The short, bricked facade was homey compared to the steel and glass prison that was the Wall Street Journal. The doorman sent her up to the 2nd floor and Rory gave her name to the receptionist. The waiting room was full of bright neons signs, posters, and plants. There were so many plants. She smiled as someone walked passed her with a small poodle trotting behind them. The Wall Street Journal would fire people who brought pets in. Octomedia was definitely more her style.

"Rory," the receptionist called, "You can take the elevator up to the 6th floor, Maria will be waiting for you."

"Thanks."

When Rory stepped out of the elevator a short woman with short black hair and a black jumpsuit was waiting for her.

"Maria?" Rory asked.

"Yes! I'm Maria. You're Lorelai, right?" Maria replied shaking her hand.

"You can call me Rory. Anytime anyone calls me Lorelai I start looking for my mom."

"You were named after your mom? That's so cool." Maria said. "Let's head to my office."

Maria led her to a small office that overlooked 5th avenue.

"Great view, huh?" Maria said, seeing her interest. "Plus, there's a food vendor festival on 34th and 6th a couple of times a year. It's pretty great."

Maria sat down behind her desk. "Well Rory, my name is Maria Valdez and I'm the senior editor here at Octomedia and have been for about five years. I manage the creatives that write the posts and stories that we publish. We're sort of like Vice but we don't have the money or freedom to be as cool. Think of us like Vice's ugly kid sister," she finished with a laugh.

"So Vice before they got their braces off," Rory replied.

"Bingo. I heard that Sasha contacted you about this position, right?"

"Yep."

"Great. Sasha's always had great taste. Let's get started. Do you have a copy of your resume?"

"Uh, no, sorry," Rory replied. "I thought I emailed everything."

"No worries," Maria said as she woke up her desktop, "Sometimes it helps to have a resume on hand but I'll just pull it up here."

Rory let out a breath. That was a little stumbling block, nothing that would throw the whole interview off. She still had this.

"Yale School of Journalism. That's refreshing! It feels like in New York we're just rotating through the latest Columbia Journalism grad class. Did you ever consider Columbia?" Maria asked.

"Not really. Harvard was my dream school for a long time, but my grandfather convinced me to go to Yale. Keep the tradition going I guess." Rory replied.

"A legacy student, wow. So you graduated from Yale, followed the Obama campaign for a while in Iowa and then ended up at the Journal. That's impressive. Why did you decide to leave a paper like that?"

Rory cleared her throat, "I just felt like my time there had come to an end. I was progressing faster than they could keep up with."

"If we brought you on to Octo Media, what would be your niche?" Maria asked, leaning back in her chair.

"My...niche?"

"Yeah, your thing. Your mojo. What are the kind of stories that we could throw at you that would bring the best writing in you? Food, politics, crime, what's your thing?"

"Politics, definitely. Following President Obama's campaign really opened my eyes to how politics is more than a two side issue."

Maria nodded. "Since you've left the Journal, what have you been up to?"

"Uh, I've been traveling and doing some personal writing."

"Is that on your portfolio? Let me bring that up–"

"Actually, you can't I, I haven't published it. They're not really articles just prose and stuff. Wouldn't match my theme." Rory finished with a nervous laugh.

"Alright. Octo Media is primarily a digital agency so we're crazy about social. What's your favorite platform?"

"I don't really have one, I guess," Rory replied.

"You don't have any? Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram…?"

Rory shook her head. "I mean I have an Instagram but I don't really do much with it."

"Well, imagine you had a favorite, how would you use the popularity of social media to distill important, breaking stories into 10 or 20 seconds attention grabbers?"

Rory was struck dumb. She truly didn't have an answer. She fiddled with her ponytail.

"I guess if I was using Facebook, I'd do a video? And Instagram I'd use exciting graphics and a catchy headline."

"Okay, cool. Where do you think social media will journalism in the next five years?" Maria asked.

"Not very far," Rory said with a laugh. "I think that traditional forms of writing will always have a special place in society and will outlive fads."

Even though Maria didn't say anything negative about her response, the rest of the interview had a distinctly colder aura. When Maria had led her to the elevator and told her she would keep in touch, Rory knew that wasn't happening.

Rory wandered around 5th avenue, freezing her face off in penance. She took a taxi back to Greenwich and laid listlessly on the couch replaying the interview over and over in her head. An afternoon of sulking was in order. But Rory was her mother's daughter and couldn't reasonably sulk without a pizza of some sort. She scrolled through Grubhub, looking for the closest pizza shop when a call popped up on her phone. It was her mom.

"Hello?"

"I can't believe I had to hear about your job interview from Mrs. Kim! After all I've done for you, you're replacing me with a woman who feeds her grandchildren drywall as a snack."

"First of all, those buckwheat squares are very good for your digestive system and second of all, I was going to tell you, but it slipped my mind."

"I guess I can forgive you since you're my favorite daughter."

"I'm your only daughter."

"Or so you think. What happened to your startup job? Are you still doing that?"

"Yeah, still working but I'm getting a little sick of moving my seat around every day like I'm in college."

"Don't tell me you miss being a cubicle monkey."

"Lock me in a cage and toss in a banana because I'm seriously craving a cubicle. Cubicle crazy."

Lorelai gasped. "I don't even know who you are anymore."

"Mom, c'mon."

"So how'd the interview go?" Lorelai asked.

For a split second, Rory considered telling the truth. Only a second.

"Okay, I guess? But when she told me the salary I knew it was a no go."

"Paying peanuts?"

"Packing peanuts. How's everything back home?" Rory asked, desperate to steer the conversation away from herself.

"Good, everything's good. James has grown another inch, officially making me a midget."

"I'll remember my heels the next time I come home. How's Luke?"

"Okay."

Rory waited for her mom to finish the sentence but there was nothing but silence on the other end of the phone.

"Just okay?" Rory asked.

"Yep. Just okay. No broken bones or busted blood vessels. Just very okay."

"Okay. How's grandma?"

"Still alive."

Rory didn't know how, but the conversation had become very tense very fast.

"Well, thanks for calling. I promise that you'll be the first one to know when I have another interview."

"Lovely. My lawyer will be sending over the contract soon. Love ya, kid."

"Love you, too."

Rory went back to Grubhub and continued her search for pizza. She contemplated calling Lane to whine a bit more, but any more stress and her newest niece would shoot out of her like a canon. Logan was MIA until he set foot back in New York and Paris was...Paris. If Rory called Paris, Rory didn't know if she'd call her an idiot or threaten to burn Octo Media down to the ground.

Maybe she should get a therapist.

––––––

Rory walked into the lobby of Jess' apartment and pressed the buzzer for the lobby.

"Who is it?" A voice grunted out from the speaker.

"Special delivery!" Rory said, putting on the fakest deep voice she could.

"I know this place looks cheap as shit, but the intercom has a camera, Rory."

"Then why'd you ask who it was?"

"I thought you'd go away, man."

"Just open the door."

After a quick elevator trip, Rory held out the pizza box as Jess opened his apartment door.

"Before you say anything, I brought pizza!"

Jess raised an eyebrow and shook the box. "It's half empty."

"Jess, I'm 32. I can't eat an entire box of pizza by myself."

Jess rolled his eyes and stepped back to let Rory inside. Besides Luke's upstairs apartment back home, Rory had never seen Jess' place.

"Oh my god," she said as she took off her coat. "It's Luke."

Jess tossed the pizza box on his coffee table and took Rory's coat. "What?"

"These are the exact curtains Luke had in his apartment."

Jess was suddenly very interested in the half-empty pizza box. "No, they're not"

"If you say so," Rory replied plopping herself down next to him on the couch.

Jess cleared his throat. "So why the hell are you bothering me on my day off like I don't have 180 papers to grade?"

"I had a job interview this morning," Rory said before sighing.

"Now, was that an 'I did great bring out the scotch noise or 'I'm glad my landlord put bars on my window' noise?"

"It was a 'Rory Gilmore is a mess and someone should put her out of her misery noise'."

"C'mon, Rory Gilmore not acing an interview? You're being too hard on yourself." Jess replied giving her a pat on the back.

"You're telling me that you'd hire someone who said that your job will eventually die out like the dinosaurs?"

Jess nodded. "Maybe I'll grab that Scotch anyways."

Jess took slow long sips of his Scotch and listened to Rory retell her interview blunder.

"But to be fair," Rory said, finishing her story, "she started with me."

"By asking you a question, in the interview for the job you wanted?"

"When you say it like that, I sound crazy."

"Say it like what? A sentence? You screwed up, man."

"I know. I really thought this would be it." Rory slammed her glass onto Jess' coffee table and stood up and began to pace around the living room. "I'm sick of crashing at my friend's apartment and paying the minimum balance on my credit card."

She flopped back down on the couch. "Why the hell is it taking me so long to get my shit together?" she said, covering her face with her hands.

Jess furrowed his eyebrows. "You're not staying with Paris anymore?"

"Uh, no, I'm staying with a friend in Manhattan," Rory replied.

"Can't you ask dear old granny to bail you out?" Jess asked.

"You know how she is," Rory said, not bothering to tell Jess that she and Emily hadn't spoken in months, "She'd hold that over my head for the rest of my life."

"Logan's loaded. Might as well make a little money for having to deal with him." Jess said with a crooked smile.

"Shut up," Rory replied, punching him in the arm.

"I'm serious. You told me this guy has a lot of connects, why don't you use them?"

"I don't want to do that either. I want to do it myself, Jess."

Jess sighed. "Hey, you remember my friend from Buzzfeed, Brent?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"He called me yesterday. He thinks you're a good writer but…"

"But what?"

Jess rubbed the back of his neck. "He heard some things about how you left The Journal."

Fuck.

"I told him whatever he heard was bullshit. And that you could write people with twenty years of experience under the table."

Jess really always had her back. "And what'd he say?" Rory asked.

"He said he'd give you a chance."

Jess snatched a random piece of paper on his coffee table, wrote down a number and gave it to Rory.

"Call him and get that job and pay me back for this $200 bottle of Scotch you tanked."

"$200? For Scotch? On a teacher's salary?"

"Don't give me that. It was a gift from one of the mom's for teacher's appreciation day."

"I've seen the shirts you wear to work, I think I know what she was appreciating and it wasn't your grammar skills, Mr. Mariano."

"Get the hell out of my apartment Gilmore."


	18. Chapter 18

Maybe Rory was getting her Ted Bundy on or something but every night since she had set up her interview with Jess' Buzzfeed friend, she had tucked his phone number under her pillow. Did it make sense? No. Did she care? Also no.

Rory was not going to have a repeat of the Octo Media fiasco. She researched David Floyd and Buzzfeed so thoroughly that she had probably crossed over to stalker territory. She edited a few of the pieces that she had written during her "sabbatical" and posted them to her portfolio. Three days before her interview, Rory was ready.

Logan had been texting her updates on how soon he would touchdown in New York. Rory had pushed them to the back of her mind. She had to focus and not get distracted by Logan's stupid nipples and dumb abs in almost every text he sent. When he came back, Rory would have to talk to him about the whole sexting business and how it just wasn't for her. She opened the last pic he sent while she was printing some copies of her resume at the library. She almost had a heart attack.

Lane texted her a picture of the outfit she would be taking the future "Kim-Cho" baby home in. By the looks of it, Lane could pop very soon. So engrossed in the teeny-tiny booties the baby was going to be brought home in, she didn't notice Logan until she was standing right in front of her.

"Oh my god," Rory said pressing a hand to her racing heart, "You just took about twelve years off my life."

"Gotta keep you on your toes, Ace," Logan said pulling her in for a kiss.

Rory rolled her eyes but kissed him back. It was nice to finally see him, and his nipples, in the flesh. Rory pulled away and pressed her manila folder full of resumes into his arms so she could grab her keys.

"Resumes" Logan said. He shut the door behind him, "Doing some cold calling?"

"Of course not. It's not 1997. It's for my job interview."

Logan wrapped an arm around her waist, "Well look at you. I knew these assholes would their shit together eventually. Where's the place?"

"Buzzfeed," Rory replied, spinning out of his arms and into the kitchen. She poured a couple of glasses of wine walked into the living room. She handed him one sat down on the couch. Logan dropped down next to her and drained his glass.

"What's with the face?" Rory asked.

"Wine's a little sharp."

"Logan."

"Fine. I thought you were joking. About the Buzzfeed thing."

"Why would I joke about that?"

Logan shook his head, "They're only a step above the Daily Mail."

"They're branching out. Jess got me in touch with one of the creative directors, they want to make the Buzzfeed politics section more legit.

"Hmm," Logan said, taking a sip of his wine. "What's the salary?"

"55k."

"That's an insult, Rory. Someone with your experience and talent making less than 60k at Buzzfeed? Their CEO owns 5 Maserati's. C'mon."

Rory snatched the pile of resumes off the coffee table and stalked into her bedroom. She didn't need Logan messing with her head about this. She needed this job.

"Rory, listen to me for a sec," Logan said.

"Not about this, please," Rory said sitting down on her bed. "I want to do this."

Logan sat next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. "I know you're freaked about being out of the job but that doesn't mean you start begging for scraps."

Rory crossed her arms.

"Rory, c'mon. You're taking a big risk here. Buzzfeed can't guarantee that they'll be able to fund this political bullshit for as long as you need. One bad story comes out of there and you'll be back to where you started."

Rory sighed. "You don't think this whole political journalism BuzzFeed trying out won't work out?"

"I've seen their portfolio. They can't afford it."

Rory closed her eyes. "I wanted this to work out so bad."

"And it's gonna. Don't worry about it." Logan stuck his face into Rory's neck. "Let me take your mind off it."

Logan stuck to his promise and did take Rory's mind off of the interview for the next few days. She felt a small tendril of guilt settle into her belly after Jess left a terse voicemail to call him a few hours after the interview came and went. Logan kept her occupied by wining and dining her, taking her to see a play or two and by generally hanging around. He had the uncanny ability to take up as much time and space in Rory's life as possible. It had to be a talent. She knew Jess would cool off, all he needed was a bit of time. Maybe a couple of weeks. It was enough time for her to figure out a good enough reason as to why she blew off the interview. When Rory saw Jess' angry face walking down the same aisle as her at a bookstore in Williamsburg only one weekend after said missed interview, she had a small heart attack. It was Rory's luck that in one of the world's most populated cities, Jess managed to find her.

Jess scanned the books on the shelf next to her. "Your boyfriend too cheap to pay your phone bill?" he asked, not looking at her.

"Umm…"

"Because David called me and said you flaked on the interview. I told him, no way, something had to be way wrong. I kept calling you but you never answered. I was about to call uncle Luke and Lorelai, but here you are, whole and healthy. So your phone was shut off, right?"

"No."

"Broken?"

Rory shook her head.

Jess, shoved the book he had been fiddling with back into the shelf. "So he wasn't kidding. You flaked."

"I didn't flake, I just thought about a little more and realized it wasn't for me."

"Seemed to like the job was fine when you came crying to me the other day."

"Hey, I didn't come crying to you. I was going to go to the interview, but then I talked to Logan and-"

Jess let out a laugh. "What a surprise! Your fancypants boyfriend is just as much of an asshole as he was ten years ago."

"Don't talk about him like that-"

"No, I'm gonna talk about him like that because you know what, he's doing this shit again. He's a goddamn leech. Anytime he comes in contact with you, he sucks any sort of intelligence and ambition out of that big stupid head of yours. And I'm not gonna stand here and yell at you in public like some 20-year-old dick and beg you to come to your senses again, okay? I'm done."

Jess pushed passed her and stomped to the entrance of the bookstore.

"Jess, wait!" Rory said as she walked after him.

Jess kept walking. Rory followed him down the street and grabbed his elbow.

"Jess, c'mon. Look, I'll call David and tell him I broke my ankle or something, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

Jess jerked his arm away from her and shouted over his shoulder, "Don't make any promises before you go home and have a talk with Logan."

Rory crossed her arms and glared at Jess' back as he descended the stairs of the L train station. A hard shoulder knocked her to the side and a stream of people rushed down after him. Rory rubbed her arm and walked back to the bookstore.

"Doyle," Rory began, handing Cassandra another piece of paper as they sat on the floor of the Geller-McMaster household, "Do you miss writing?"

"I write all the time," Doyle said with a shrug.

"No, I mean, being a writer. Correct me if I'm wrong but I don't remember being a luxury real estate salesman as your hidden passion."

Cassandra took her paper and crayons and crawled over to Dexter who was using Fatty's belly as a desk.

Doyle rolled his eyes, "Only a psychopath would be excited about selling real estate for a living, Rory."

"Why don't you start writing again?"

"Because this is New York, Rory. A 4 person household with a median income of 100,000 a year is barely considered middle class. As much as I would love to sit around smoking cigars and patting myself on the back for sniffing out the best picture of Gigi Hadid to put on the front page of whatever hick paper would take me, I've got more important things to focus on."

Doyle stood up and began gathering up the candy wrappers, napkins and all other debris that came with having children. Rory sat down at the kitchen table and watched Doyle putter around like the house husband of the century.

"Doesn't it drive you crazy that every day you're stuck in a suit talking about views and upcoming neighborhoods instead cracking the whip on puny writers like me like you were meant to? Writing's who you are, Doyle."

Doyle finished the dishes and raised an eyebrow at her, "Writing is not who I am, Rory. It's a job. A job that, even with an Ivy League diploma, will only get you about six bucks and a bad coke habit. I've got better things to do Rory, believe it or not."

Rory chewed her lip and let the sounds of running water and garbled meows from the living room fill the silence.

"And you're okay with that? Not being a writer. Class of 2007 Doyle McMaster would be getting the sweats if he didn't tell someone that their parents made a mistake not leaving them in the hospital because they forgot how to use a semicolon."

"Class of 2007 Doyle McMaster was a dweeb with a khaki fetish. Doyle McMaster-Geller of 2018 has a wife, a mortgage and six years of therapy under his belt."

That was news to Rory. It took about three minutes of knowing Paris to realize why she needed and still needed therapy. Doyle, not so much.

"Don't look at me like that. It was either therapy or murder-suicide. It helped me get my shit together."

Doyle wiped his hands on a dishtowel and leaned against the sink. He crossed his arms. "You should try it."

"Therapy? Me? No, I've got my shit together. Well, it's not together-together, but it's not, not together. It's getting together, though."

"Yeah…" Doyle plucked a card off of the fridge and handed it to Rory. "Ask her to help you get your shit together-together."

Rory stared at the card in her hand.

"Daddy!" Dexter yelled from the living room, "Fatty ate my crayon!"


	19. Chapter 19

As much as Lorelai wanted to make a crack about the nurse who walked by in a set of leopard print scrubs, matching crocs included, she kept her mouth closed. Her throat, like the rest of her body, was gnarled tightly in fear. The hardest part of seeing Esther was listening to her advice. The one goal Esther had been beating into Lorelai's head was that married couples were one cohesive unit. Not two friends who live together and boinked once in a while, but a team.

Lorelai had been alone for a long time. Longer than she wanted to admit. Even after she and Luke got married, she didn't see the point of bothering Luke some things if she could take care of it herself. Luke worked hard. He worked so hard to be a good boss and a good father and good husband that Lorelai assumed that not telling him about a missed bill here or an accident there wasn't a big deal. Because Lorelai could figure it and that's what mattered. But Esther explained that it was bad. Not like, punching your boss in the face bad, but still not very good. Lorelai almost felt like getting herself checked out after Esther spelled it out for her. A spouse is supposed to be there to carry the burdens of life with you. Besides the tax break, it was kind of the whole point of marriage.

Luke glanced around the waiting room, cap clutched in his hands, and a worried wrinkle smack dab in the middle of his forehead. Lorelai grabbed his hand. He didn't look at her but squeezed back. Things between them were getting…better. Puppy dogs and venti cappuccinos it was not but, it was better than before. They could put up a united front at her mother's Friday night dinners and could stand being in the same room again. It was an uphill battle but they were getting there together.

Two weeks ago, after a session with Esther, Luke laid next to her in bed and asked about it. He wanted to know what happened. Every second of the pregnancy was seared into her brain but Lorelai couldn't find the courage to say anything coherent to Luke. Instead, Lorelai made an appointment with Dr. Washington.

"Lorelai," Dr. Washington greeted when she entered the exam room, "Hello. Is this Mr. Danes?" she asked, holding out a hand to Luke.

"Just Luke, yeah," Luke replied as he accepted the handshake.

Luke sat back down in the chair next to the exam table that Lorelai hopped up on.

"Lorelai what brings you in today?" Dr. Washington asked, sitting behind her computer. "Everything is good, I hope? The bleeding has stopped, no cramping?"

"Yep, everything's fine. Rock-solid."

The room lapsed into silence.

Dr. Washington's eyes flitted between Lorelai and Luke. "Then, why-"

"It's for me. I need to know." Luke said, looking up from the hands folded in his lap. "I checked out after I found out about the pregnancy and I just need to know about it. About everything."

Lorelai didn't know how to feel about Luke throwing himself under the bus for her. She'd have to bring it up in therapy this week.

Dr. Washington nodded. "Alright, Mr. Danes." She turned around to her computer.

Lorelai snuck a glance at Luke, who was laser-focused on the back of Dr. Washington's head. She turned back around. "I guess we should start at the beginning."

Dr. Washington cleared her throat, "Lorelai had her first appointment with me at around 12 weeks. It's not unusual at that point to experience morning sickness, but Lorelai described having such severe nausea and pain as early as 4 or 5 weeks into it. Such excessive vomiting, coupled with the fact that it was a geriatric pregnancy–"

"Wait, I'm sorry, geriatric? What the hell does that mean?" Luke asked.

"It means I'm old," Lorelai replied.

"Pretty much, Mr. Danes. Any pregnant person over the age of 35 is considered geriatric." Dr. Washington said.

"Jesus," Luke muttered.

Dr. Washington continued. "Like I was saying, a geriatric pregnancy along with a bad case of morning sickness was cause for concern. Pregnancy over 45 is always be considered high risk, but with Lorelai's symptoms, I asked her to come in twice a week until she gave birth."

Dr. Washington brought up a black and white ultrasound photo. Luke put his glasses on and leaned in to take a closer look.

"This is the fetus during a scan I took around 13 weeks. It's average size, progressing well. No cause for alarm." Dr. Washington began to scroll through several more ultrasound photos "But you can see at some point at 17 weeks, all growth came to a halt."

Lorelai felt a bead of sweat drip down her neck.

"So the baby died?" Luke asked.

"No, there was still a heartbeat, but the fetus stopped developing. There was still a chance that the vital organs could still grow but a fetus with an underdeveloped brain," Dr. Washington sighed, "There just wouldn't be much of a quality of life."

Luke rubbed a hand over his chin. "And this happened because of something we did?"

closed the ultrasound pictures on her desktop. "I want you both to understand something. Why or why not a fetus is born healthy is not an exact science. Millions of factors come into play during pregnancy, some that we haven't even discovered yet. Gene defects are hard to catch even when you're searching for them."

Luke nodded his head. "Okay. Okay."

Dr. Washington smiled. "I hope I've cleared up a few things for you today, Mr. Danes."

Luke nodded again. "Yeah, thanks for seeing us."

The ride home was silent. It was an eerie callback to the days after her mother opened her big mouth and turned the house on its head. For once, Lorelai was glad James was doing his best butthead tween impression and spending his time alone in his room. Esther had told her that Luke was a person who needed to open up on his own, rather than be forced. And because she was a good little girl, Lorelai held off on asking about why they're house had returned to the cold war of 89' until they were in bed that night.

"We should talk about this with Esther." was all he said.

Emergency therapy sessions with her marriage counselor was not where Loerali expected to be at this point in her life.

Esther looked surprised to see them walk into her office. She sat down and placed her notepad in her lap. "What brings you-"

Luke sprang up from his chair. "I'm a dumbass!"

Lorelai and Esther blinked up at him.

"What-" Lorelai began.

"I get it!" he said, waving his arms in front of him, "I get why you didn't tell me and I feel like such a knucklehead because I would do the same thing! God damn it, I did the same thing!"

"You got knocked up?" Lorelai asked.

"No!" Luke put his hands on his hips and glared at the floor. "You remember last Thanksgiving when all I ate was the green bean casserole and steamed salmon at your mothers?"

"Yes?"

"It wasn't because I didn't trust the chef's long fingernails." Luke crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling. "It was because my doctor told me I was in the early stages of heart disease."

"What?" Lorelai said, standing up as well, "Heart disease? You have heart disease? What the hell Luke, why didn't you tell me?"

"My doctor told me that all I had to do was cut down on my red meat and exercise a little more and take a little medication-"

"You've been taking heart meds for a year in secret? How is that even possible?"

Luke covered his face with his hands. "I take them at the diner."

"Jesus Christ," Lorelai said, sitting back down. "I didn't even notice."

Luke dropped into his seat. "I know, that was the point. I'm an idiot."

"Alright, alright," Esther said, "Someone in this room may have done something an idiot would do but no-one here is a quote-unquote idiot. Luke, why didn't you tell Lorelai about this? You remember our conversation about sharing burdens, right?"

"Because it wasn't a big deal. You had more important crap to deal with, remember? That stupid fru-fru hotel opened 2 miles away and worrying about whether or not I was eating enough spinach wasn't going to help anything." Luke replied.

Esther let out a small laugh and laughed harder and Luke and Lorelai's twin looks of confusion.

"Sorry, I don't mean to laugh but I've never worked with a couple as made for each other as you two. You even lie to each about the worst things for the best reasons. I feel like writing a thesis about you guys."

* * *

Emily sniffed at the waiting room of The Breaking Trail Therapy Group. The office certainly wasn't anything like the office she took Lorelai to a few months after Rory was born. It looked childish. All these bright colors and frankly, oddly shaped furniture. And all the plants! For goodness sake, she didn't think she was making an appointment to trek through a jungle.

She wondered for the 30th time since sitting down if making an appointment was a waste of time.

Crossing her legs, Emily wrinkled her nose at the receptionist before checking the time on her watch. Her appointment was at 12:15.

It was 12:20.

Emily was only going to wait one more minute before calling her driver and going right back home. At long last, the door behind the receptionist desk opened and a disheveled college-aged boy walked out. Emily wrinkled her nose again. That was the population her doctor was familiar with? God help her.

"Mrs. Gilmore?" The receptionist said, "You can go in now."

"Thank you."

Emily collected her jacket and handbag and walked through the open door. A young Asian woman stood up from a silly blue armchair to greet here.

"Thanks for your patience, Mrs. Gilmore. Please, have a seat."

"Thank you," Emily replied, taking a seat across from her.

"My name is Esther Chow. You're welcome to call me Dr. Chow or Esther, whichever you feel more comfortable with. I've been a licensed therapist for, geez, almost 20 years."

"You've been a therapist since you were five, Dr. Chow?" Emily asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh no," Esther said with a laugh, "Since I was 34, I think? Seems like so long ago. Well, enough about me! What brought you to therapy today, Mrs. Gilmore?"

Emily shrugged. "My friend recommended the Connecticut offices. I thought I'd try it out."

Esther nodded. "Okay. Why do you think she suggested coming to therapy?"

"It helped her after her husband died, so she thought it would be good for me too."

"How long ago did your husband pass away?"

"Last summer," Emily said, smoothing down a wrinkle on her slacks.

"I'm sorry to hear that. How are you dealing with that?"

Emily glared at the pen and notepad in Esther's hands. "Fine."

Esther followed her gaze before putting the notepad and pen down on the table. She crossed her legs.

"Were you and…"

"Richard," Emily supplied.

"Were you and Richard married for long?" Esther asked.

"Almost 61 years," Emily replied with a smile.

Wow," Esther replied leaning back in her chair, "That's amazing. My husband and I barely hit the 12-year mark. Richard must've been something."

"He really was. You know I almost didn't bother with him when we first met."

"Really?"

"Of course! He was already engaged and engaged men are no less trouble than married men but," Emily said with a shrug, "He was so tall and charming and he knew how to command a room. I couldn't help myself."

Emily spent the rest of the session, telling her and Richard's story to Esther. It felt good to talk to someone about him again. After Richard's death, it was rare that someone spoke to her about Richard, bar the standard condolences. Emily suspected that even if Lorelai or Rory were on speaking terms with her, they wouldn't sit around and reminisce.

"Sorry to interrupt you Emily but it looks like our time's up," Esther said.

"It's been an hour already? I didn't even notice."

"Time flies when you're having fun," Esther replied as she stood up to lead Emily to the door. "Emily, I think our first session went great."

"This was hardly a session, all I did was talk about my husband."

"Not every therapy session has to end with either tears or a new purpose in life. Communication and counsel with an unbiased audience are sometimes all people need. Talking about your husband for an hour also kept a smile on your face for an hour."

"Do you think I need therapy?"

"I may be a bit biased but everyone could do with a session every once in a while."

Emily nodded. Maybe she could.


	20. Chapter 20

When Rory woke up to a picture of Kwan and Steve cradling a red-faced baby with a fat pink bow on her head, she bought a round trip ticket to Stars Hollow. Rory didn't care that she was probably annoying everyone with ears within a 5-foot radius with the noises she made after Lane sent picture after picture of little Amanda Cho.

The arrival of Amanda Cho was a blessing in disguise. Rory sent an email to Jess's Buzzfeed friend about missing the interview. She received a terse thanks in but no offer to reschedule. She hadn't wanted the job that badly but it still stung. Jess was still ignoring her and Logan was working her last nerve. She couldn't stand listening to him whine about his job for another day. At least he had one.

Stepping out the taxi, Rory hitched her overnight bag over the shoulder and walked into Luke's. She smiled as the bell jangled above her head.

"Rory!" Luke said, coming out from behind the counter to give her a hug, "What're you doing here?"

"I came by to see Lane and the baby."

"Did that happen already?"

"Yeah, she sent in the group chat."

"Ugh," Luke said. He grabbed Rory's overnight bag and stashed it behind the counter, "Do people not talk on the phone anymore? Is that too much to ask? You can't see a thing on those damn midget screens! "

Rory laughed and took a seat the counter, "Alright grandpa, simmer down. I'll have you know that I read an article that almost 50% of millennials still regularly talk on the phone."

"Good to hear. You want some coffee?"

"Yes, please."

Luke walked into the kitchen to rinse out the coffee pot. Rory's phone vibrated again for the third time in ten minutes. Another text from Logan.

"Rory!" a familiar voice called from behind her.

"Hey Kirk, what's up?"

"I was having my in-between meals snack and couldn't help but notice your hair from my table."

"My hair?"

"Yes. I recently renewed my cosmetology license and hired a new girl down at Ronda's."

Kirk leaned in stared at the top of her forehead. "You should come by and have her do something about those grays before they get worse. Maybe add in trim too, those ends are getting mighty splitty."

Rory slapped a hand to her hair. "Grays? I'm going gray?"

Luke slammed a cup of coffee on the counter. "Kirk, stop harassing my kid. You wanna get banned again?"

"You can't do that! If I don't have at least one cup of Carlos' banana pudding a week, I'll get the shakes!"

"Kirk."

"Fine." Kirk turned to Rory, "Let me know when you want to come by Ronda's. If you tell them Kirk sent you, you get a free shampoo."

Kirk left a business card on the counter before strutting out of the diner. Luke rolled his eyes and pushed the coffee cup closer to Rory. "Don't listen to that knucklehead, you've got like three grays, max."

"Three?! I thought there were zero!"

–––––––––

"Oh my darling little graying chickadee, let me hold you!" Lorelai said, opening her arms wide when Rory walked into the Inn's lobby.

"Mom," Rory said, throwing herself into Lorelai's arms, "Please stop. Thinking about my grays is going to give me grays."

Lorelai kissed her forehead. "Aw, it's not so bad, kid. There's only like, five."

"What? Luke only said I had three!"

"Uh- I meant three. Barely three! It's more two than three!"

"So, sorry to interrupt this lovely reunion," Michel said as he walked up to them, "but that lovely couple that checked in this morning has found another problem with their room."

Lorelai sighed and closed her eyes. "Michel, remind me. Are we legally allowed to throw people out of the windows in this great state of Connecticut?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"Damn human rights. I'll be right back." Lorelai said.

"So Rory, what brings you back to the gaping chasm of boredom that is Stars Hollow?" Michel asked, walking back over to the check-in desk.

"Lane had her baby yesterday and it's only polite to meet your newest niece in person."

"Yesterday? Ugh, a Pisces. Next to Libras, they are the worst."

"Michel, I'm a Libra."

"You don't say," Michel replied with a bright smile. "Well, since you are going over there anyway, you can bring this over."

Michel dropped a massive basket covered in pink cellophane on the desk. It was stuffed with toys, diapers, lotions, and books, tied with a bright yellow bow.

Rory craned her head around the towering basket and gaped at Michel. "What is this?"

"Oh, you know, just a little something to make all of your Babies R Us clearance sale gifts look like the garbage they are. Now run along, some of us have jobs to do."

Lane responded to Michel's extravagant one-upmanship basket bonanza by bursting into tears.

"I'm sorry," she said wiping her nose with the sleeve of her hospital gown, "I seriously don't remember crying this much when Kwan and Steve were born."

"Hey, I cried too when I saw how bad Michel was gonna make me look with this baby basket on steroids," Rory replied, setting the basket on the floor.

She leaned over the bassinet next to Lane's bed and took a good hard look at Amanda Cho. She looked like a cross between a sun-dried tomato and an earthworm.

"She's beautiful," Rory said, sitting up on Lane's hospital bed.

Lane smacked her shoulder. "Shut up. You know she looks like a golden raisin. All newborns do."

"She is a bit...wrinkly."

"I know, but I like her anyway."

Rory crawled over Lane and laid down next to her.

"Thanks for coming," Lane said, squeezing her hand. "I know you're busy with your startup and stuff in New York."

"I moved some stuff around," Rory said, suddenly becoming very interested in the ceiling.

Rory felt gaze burning into the side of her face.

"Rory…"

"Fine!" Rory said throwing her hands in the air, "I don't work at a startup."

"Did you quit and go to the other place you were interviewing at?"

"No." Rory sighed, "I never had a job and I was never living with Paris and Doyle. I've been living with Logan."

"Logan-Logan? From college? Wasn't he engaged?"

Rory frowned and looked down at her lap. "He's married now, actually."

"Oh, Rory."

"Have you been taking guilt lessons from my mom or something?" Rory asked, slapping her hands over her face. "And I absolutely tanked my job interview. It was a straight-up Hindenburg."

Lane scooted over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "We all have bad interviews, it's not that bad."

"And then Jess got me an interview and I flaked because Logan said it was a bad idea."

"Oh, Rory," Lane replied.

"Stop saying that. If I feel any worse, I'll have to sell myself on the black market."

"Well, your kidneys are probably in great shape, so you'd sell pretty good." Lane smiled and shifted around with a wince.

"I can't believe I'm unloading about my crap life after you've just given birth. Do you know when my award for the worst friend of the year is coming? Cause' I feel it should've been here ten minutes ago."

"Rory, I'm a mother of three living in a small town in Connecticut, this is the kind of entertainment people pay for. Plus, if you don't tell me about how bad your life is, how am I supposed to help you fix it?"

"I don't think magical Lane brain can help me this time."

"I can still try. It's been a while since we've done a good scheme."

A knock sounded on the door and Henry stuck his head in.

"Hey babe," he whispered, "Hey Rory."

"Why are you whispering?" Rory asked, also whispering.

"I don't want to hurt her little ears…" he said trailing off into sniffles.

Lane rolled her eyes with a smile. "He's officially cried more tears than I have at this point."

"Aw, don't be mean, it's cute. Henry, keep being cute no matter what Lane says."

"Thank you, Rory," Henry said blinking away tears. "Oh Lane, your mom made you some seaweed soup."

"Yes! I can't eat another plate of hospital eggs."

Rory rolled off the bed so Henry could help Lane sit up and eat. Henry brushed the hair out of Lane's face and kissed her on the cheek. Rory felt like the queen of all third wheels. She brushed a strand of hair out of her own face.

"I think I'm gonna go."

"Aw, already? Please stay a little longer? Amanda's gonna wake up soon and Henry's really gonna start."

"I'll come by tomorrow. You stay here, enjoy your soup and your baby, and your really nice husband who's not afraid to show his emotions."

Lane laughed. "Fine. Tell Michel thanks for the super huge baby basket!"

An uncomfortable heaviness settled in Rory's stomach after she left the hospital that could only be solved by one to three of the super chocolate chunk cookies at Weston's Bakery. It was a long walk from the hospital, but Rory could do with the fresh air. By the time Rory arrived at the center of Stars Hollow, Rory was sure she needed all three of those super chocolate chunks cookies. Maybe four, the walk had taken more out of her than anticipated. Her stroll to the bakery was halted when she spotted a familiar face walking through the gazebo. It was Dean.

She hadn't seen or thought of him in a long, long time. She knew he still lived around Stars Hollow but she managed to miss him whenever she visited. How that was even possible in the smallest town in Connecticut, she'll never know. He was walking with his arm around Lindsey Lister, Rory realized with a blink. A brunette Lindsey Lister. Huh. All this time Rory thought she was a natural blonde. Their matching brunette heads were bent towards each other, laughing at something on Lindsey's phone. She threw her head back in laughter while Dean snickered and glanced up.

Rory smiled and gave a wave. Dean's eyes widened and he glanced away, taking Lindsey and turning around. It wasn't more than a minute before they were lost in the crowd. Rory brought her hand down and shoved her hands in her pockets. She didn't care how dumb it sounded.

She wanted her mom.

And those damn cookies.

When Luke, Lorelai, and James walked into the house, they found Rory, a suspiciously large bag of cookies, and the stink of depression on their couch.

"Oh boy," Lorelai said.

"Cookies!" James ran over to the couch and dug into the bag.

"Drop it, mister! You just had dinner." Lorelai said.

"Aw, mom, c'mon."

"You can have a cookie if you listen to me talk about my problems," said Rory.

"What kind of problems?" James asked.

"Boy problems," Rory replied, sitting up.

James dropped the cookies and held up his hands. "I'm out." he ran off to his room.

"Don't stay up all night on your phone, I mean it! I'll turn off the WIFI!" Luke called after him.

Luke ran across the back of his neck. "It's not really boy problems, is it? Because I don't have experience with that sort of thing."

"As if," Lorelai said, dropping down on the couch next to Rory, "Weren't you guy who spent two hours on the phone with April after she broke up with that white guy with the dreads who pretended to be Jamaican?"

"That was just me offering to drive up to Boston to beat up a 19-year-old idiot for an hour and then telling her to call her mom for the rest."

"Fine, slacker. Make yourself useful and rustle up some hot cocoa."

"Aye, aye," Luke replied.

"So," Lorelai said, digging into the cookies, "Boy problems. You mean man problems, right? Because I can only hold so much love for you."

"It's not man problems," Rory said flopping on her back on the couch, "It's Dean problems."

"Dean? Dean Forrester? Don't tell me that circus rolled back into town."

"Nope, no circus. I ran into Dean and Lindsey today. Actually, I'm sorry, Dean saw me and then walked in the opposite direction. Did you know that she's a brunette now?"

"Brunettes do have more fun. But, ouch. Walking in the opposite direction? That's brutal. Maybe he didn't see you?"

"Oh no, he saw me. He saw me, we locked eyes, and then he took Lindsey and practically ran like I had the plague. And another thing, since when are they back together?"

"Since two years, I think?" Lorelai replied.

"Two years? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Well," Lorelai said, "We didn't think you'd want to know. The whole Dean-Lindsey thing wasn't your brightest moment."

"I know that but geez, can you believe that he actually ran from me?" Rory said, crossing her arms.

"Kinda? Seeing the woman who destroyed their marriage probably wouldn't be all that fun."

"Hot cocoa, coming in," Luke announced dropping two mugs on the coffee table.

Rory stood up. "I'm not in the mood anymore. I think I just wanna go to bed."

"Do you want us to leave so you can have the couch?" Luke asked.

"Actually, can I stay at your old place?" Rory asked.

"You can but it's dusty and full of crap."

"Doesn't matter."

Luke took out a collection of keys from his pocket and handed a few to Rory. "Uh, red key is for the top lock, blue for the bottom. Your suitcase is in the back of my truck, you want me to drive-"

"No thanks, I'll walk," Rory said with a shrug.

"But it's 60°," Lorelai said.

"I could use the exercise. I ate twelve of those cookies. I have to walk off the calories, I'm not as young I used to be, you know? 'Night guys."

"Geez," Luke said sitting on the couch next to Lorelai, "Seeing Dean did a number on her."

"You heard us? You could've jumped in at any time with some step-fatherly advice."

Luke patted her thigh, "You had it covered. When's your first one-on-one session with Esther?"

"Next week." Lorelai curled her legs under her and dropped her head on Luke's shoulder. "I just want it to be known that I feel like it's very unfair that Esther said I was the one that needs more therapy. What about you? Your only slightly less messed up than I am! I want a recount."

"She did say that we should both probably should get therapy on our own. She only asked you to come to her because she liked you more."

Lorelai smiled. "Most people do."


	21. Chapter 21

Luke wasn't kidding about his old apartment being full of crap. It was where Luke's single life came to die. Rory pulled the tarp off of Luke's old bed and beat out as much dust as she could. She slipped between the covers threw her phone on the bedside table. Besides the sound of her breathing, Rory couldn't hear a thing. After falling asleep to the sounds of the city the last few years, the silence of Stars Hollow was unnerving.

All Rory could hear were her own stupid thoughts over and over again. Luke's place had working electricity but of course, no TV. The man was a technology monk at the best of times. Rory got out of bed and shuffled around the apartment. She opened cabinets, unpacked boxes, and repacked boxes before she circled back around to the bed.

With a world of stalker-like information at her fingertips, it was only a matter of time before something bad happened. Rory had been resisting the temptation to look Dean up since she left the house.

She knew it would probably make things worse. She wasn't a mathematician but the odds were pretty high. She opened up her phone and typed in 'Dean Forrester' in Google. The results weren't plentiful. There were mostly pictures of trees and ads for lawn care companies. But there, on the second results page, halfway down, was Dean's Instagram. Dean_Fstr. Simple and easy, just like he was.

Rory laid down and held her phone above her and began to scroll. From the outside looking in, it was the boring Instagram account of a thirty-something suburban guy. There were pictures of him and his coworkers on-site somewhere. Pictures of him and Lindsey. Pictures of a stupid sunset. Boring. Normal. Everyday. Absolutely basic. Rory shouldn't have been jealous. But she was.

She wasn't jealous of Lindsey. She didn't feel that way towards Dean anymore. Rory was jealous of Dean. He had been next to her during the most messed up parts of her life, messing up right with her. Hell, he hadn't even gone to college and was divorced before he was twenty! Yet there he was, working a good job in one of the nicer parts of town and happily living his life with Lindsey.

What the fuck.

Rory's aimless scrolling (for a boring guy Dean had a lot of posts) was interrupted by her phone vibrating and Logan's face popping up. The phone slipped out of her hands and smacked her right in the forehead.

"Ow," Rory mumbled, holding the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hey sleepyhead, did I wake you?"

"It's only 8:30 over here."

"Yeah, but I know how those small towns run. Guess what?"

"What?"

"I put some feelers out around the office for anybody who needed an editor and a pharma company had a vacant desk."

"Wow," Rory said, failing to inject some enthusiasm into her voice, "That's great."

"That's it? 'Great'? Gimme a little more, Ace."

"Sorry, sorry. Just...it was a bad day today."

"Shit, is there something wrong with Lane's kid?"

"No! No, thank God. Amanda is very good. She's pink and wrinkly and super squishy. Just, I ran into Dean-"

"Dean?"

"Ex-boyfriend whose marriage I destroyed."

"Right, right."

"Well, he and his ex-wife are back together. I saw them today and when Dean saw me, he walked in the opposite direction."

Logan laughed. "Don't take it so personal. There are a couple of my exes that I would run from and they didn't even cause my divorce."

"I don't even know why I'm so messed up about this. Sorry for being a baby, this job thing sounds great. Really, really great. Thank you."

"No problem. Only the best for the best. And don't worry about the Dean thing. You got me, okay?"

She did have Logan. And so did Odette.

* * *

"You on vacation from work or what?" Luke asked, sliding a plate of pancakes and eggs in front of Rory.

"Yeah, I took some days off. No big deal."

"Paid?"

"Of course."

"Huh, I didn't think startups could afford to do that."

"Guess I'm just lucky," Rory replied with a shrug.

Luke chuckled before glancing up and frowning. Outside the window, Taylor was stomping towards the diner with a flower-filled wicker basket in his arms.

"Jesus Christ," Luke muttered before walking back behind the counter and into the kitchen.

"Luke! Luke!" Taylor said walking up to counter, "Don't hide from me!"

"I'm not hiding," Luke yelled back, "I'm taking care of my business."

"It's very funny that every time I come in here to ask your permission to string these Spring Equinox garlands in your window, you're always taking care of your business."

"The Spring Equinox isn't for 2 weeks, Mr. Doosey," Rory said.

"Rory! Welcome back. You are correct. You see, all of the storefronts have been decorating for the Equinox because we're having a Spring Equinox block party in the square."

"What if it rains?"

"It's not going to," Taylor replied with a chuckle.

"But what if it does?"

"It is not going to rain! I've planned every single detail for a perfectly sunny day, here let me tell about the begonia station–"

"Enough!" Luke said coming out from the kitchen, "If I put up the stupid flowers, will you get out of here?"

"Luke, not to insult you but, I'm not sure if I can take your word that you'll put these up when I leave."

"Excuse me?" Luke replied.

"Well, you have a reputation of reneging on our decorating agreements–"

"What."

"I mean who could forget about the inflatable Santa next to your door that somehow 'popped' the 2nd night it was up-"

Luke snatched the basket out of Taylor's hands. "I'll do it, now get out."

"Are you sure?"

"Taylor!"

"Fine, but remember the garlands are alternating. One row pink, one row blue. And try not to let them droop too much, that's certainly not the look I'm going for-"

"Get out!"

Taylor huffed and opened his mouth to say one more thing but the glare on Luke's face shut it. He frowned and left.

"Isn't Taylor like 70? Where does he get the energy for this crap?" Luke asked shaking his head. He looked at the basket of flowers in his hand. "You know how to put up a garland?" he asked Rory.

"No, but I have my phone, determination and 2 hours before I go see Lane and the baby."

"Lemme grab the ladder."

20 minutes later, Luke and Rory were braving the leftover winter chill to make Luke's diner the prettiest storefront in Stars Hollow.

"How's it look from down there?" Luke asked from the top of the ladder.

"Hmm, I think the blue row is too droopy."

"Yeah. It's supposed to droop. That's how you have a garland."

"But it's too droopy. The instructions said a banana-shaped U. That's a horseshoe-shaped U."

"This is a banana-shaped U," Luke replied staring up at the garland.

"Nope, that is distantly horseshoe-shaped. I've seen a lot of pictures of horse feet and that is a horseshoe-shaped U."

"I forgot about that horse phrase you went through." Luke looked back at the garlands hanging from the windows, "But it's fine, I'm not doing it again. It's fine!"

Rory shrugged, "I'm just saying that Taylor is gonna come back here and see this U and know it's not the U he wanted and the whole place is gonna go up in flames."

Luke turned around, "Taylor can shove these flowers up…"

"Woah, Woah, Woah!" Rory said, covering her ears, "Watch your language, there are children here."

Luke rolled his eyes and climbed down. "If Taylor says one word, I"m tearing these down and setting them on fire." Luke gave Rory a hug. "Thanks for the help."

"Of course. You know how much I love helping Taylor."

Luke swatted her shoulder. "Get outta here."

"See ya."

Rory walked to the Gazebo and sat down on the steps. Dean's reaction to her was still bothering her. It didn't help that she spent her night practically stalking him. She bit the skin on the side of her thumb before taking out her phone. She couldn't call Lane. She was doped up on baby hormones and wouldn't be any help. Her mom–absolutely not. Logan proved he was no help last night. She needed to talk to someone smart and objective. Rory held the phone up to her ear and waited.

"Rory! You're exactly the voice I need today. It's only ten in the morning and I've had gone through two full boxes of Kleenex. Those things aren't cheap, you know. I get the kind with aloe vera. How much can you cry over defective ovaries or garbage sperm? My God. Enough about me, what's going on with you?" Paris asked.

"Well, Lane had her baby so I came down to see her and I stopped by my mom's place."

"Okay…"

"And the baby's great and mom and Luke and James are great and–" Rory took a deep breath. "Can I ask you something?"

"Depends. Do you want me to answer you truthfully or answer you the way my therapist says makes people think I'm not a sociopath?"

"I'll take door number one for $300."

"Alright then. Proceed."

"Okay. Do you remember Dean? From highschool?"

"Right. Your first love who dumped you, got married and then you gave him your virginity and then helped destroy his marriage, yes. He was tall, right?"

"Yeah, super tall. King Kong had nothing on him. Anyways, last night I was walking to the bakery and saw him and Lindsey-"

"Who?"

"The wife he was married to when I jumped into bed with him."

"Right. Continue."

"And he saw me, but she didn't, right? But after he saw me, he turned the other way! Practically ran away from me. My mom told me that he and Lindsey have been back together for two years which is crazy because I wouldn't have taken him back but whatever, just. Last night I found his Instagram and I think I should message him about what happened. So we can clear the air or whatever."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes? No? I think?"

"Rory, don't take this the wrong way, but what you said was so stupid that now I think you should get yourself tested."

"Ouch."

"You said I could be honest. And the honest truth is that messaging Dean after he ran away from you after not seeing each other for ten years is something 16-year-old Paris Geller would do. Do you want to act like 16-year-old Paris Geller, Rory?"

"No. God no."

"Then from one reformed basket case to a current basket case, I'm telling you to move on. Delete your search history. Get over it. Move on. Slash and burn."

"Did you just call me crazy?" Rory asked.

"Rory, I've seen the inside of so many therapist's offices that I should've become a niche interior designer. I'm saying this as your friend. You're cracked. You need to get your shit together."

"Have you been talking to Doyle?" Rory asked.

"Yes, Rory believe it or not I do talk to my husband and for once in our 8 years of marriage, he's right. You need a professional. And I have a great therapist that I stopped seeing during my first year of residency because I caused her nervous breakdown, but I heard she's on some new meds and I think she'd be perfect for you. Let me make a few calls and I'll get her to see you. What insurance do you have, again?"

Rory's head was buzzing from Paris' verbal runaway train. Therapy? Nervous breakdowns? What?

"Paris? Listen I have to go, I said I'd have lunch with my mom. You know how it is with those timezones."

"Oh. Okay. I'll look up any therapists who are still in practice after working with me and I'll text it to later. Tell Lorelai I said hi."

"Yeah, sure. Bye." Rory replied before ending the call.

Rory hung up the phone and looked around. During the phone call, Rory had somehow power walked to the bakery. The stress of Paris had driven her to the only thing that could understand her.

Carbs.


	22. Chapter 22

Rory lifted her head off the window.

"Thanks for driving me to the airport," she said.

"No problem, kiddo. It's nice to spend a few hours with someone who doesn't make fun of my very well thought out Spice Girls obsession. And they laughed when I said they'd back together. Hah!"

Lorelai frowned when Rory nodded without saying anything back. She gave her elbow a nudge. "The Rory I know would make fun of me for liking someone named Baby Spice for over twenty years. What's up with you?"

Rory ran a hand through her hair. "I needed someone to talk to about the whole Dean thing."

"Why didn't you come talk to me? I abandon Michel all the time, it's no big deal."

"I needed someone honest. Really honest. So I called Paris."

"Couldn't you have just waited until you got home?"

"What?"

"Paris. You're currently bunking on her plastic-covered couch. Geez, seeing Dean did mess you up."

Rory let out a panicked breath, she really had to start writing stuff like that down. "Yeah. I guess it did. Anyways so I called her and told her I found him on Instagram and that I was thinking about messaging him–"

"Oh my God."

"I know but she told me that messaging Dean after what happened is something that 16-year-old Paris would do."

"Way harsh, Tai."

"It gets better. Then she told me to get therapy. Me, in therapy! It'd be like you in therapy. Or Luke in therapy. Right?"

"Riiiiiight. Uh, when's your flight again?" Lorelai asked.

* * *

"In about 3 hours. Why?"

"Let's get something to eat. I think I saw a McDonald's a mile back."

If things were different, Rory would have no trouble eating a ten-piece meal and washing it down with a large soda. But after hearing her mom drop the bombshell of all bombshells she could barely manage a single nugget.

"Therapy?" she whispered, "It was so bad you guys had to go to therapy? Why didn't you tell me?"

"It all got so out of hand so fast that even talking to you couldn't fix it."

"Wow," Rory replied, "But what was 'It'?"

"What?"

"It. What was It? The big 'It'. What was such a big deal that you and Luke almost..." Rory could barely say it, "Got a divorce?"

Lorelai looked down at the sticky table. "Listen, I know we talk about everything together. It's our thing. But I think what happened between me and Luke has to stay between me and Luke."

"So it was big?"

"Yep."

"How big?"

"Ms. Patty before the lap band big."

The laugh escaped before Rory could think about stifling it. Lorelai pressed her lips together to try to contain her giggles but eventually, they broke free too. Soon there leaning over each other laughing like a pair of loons who found the secret sauce the most hilarious thing in the world.

Lorelai wiped her eyes and grasped her stomach, "Oh my god, we're so going to hell."

"I hope they have Netflix down there."

* * *

Hugging your mom goodbye before getting on a plane never got easier, no matter how many times Rory did it.

"Don't get pregnant, wash behind your ears and eat at least one piece of fruit this month," Lorelai said before letting her go.

"Mom, you've been telling me that before every flight for the last ten years."

"Are you pregnant?"

"No."

"Your ears dirty?"

"No?"

"You got scurvy?"

"I don't think so," Rory replied.

"Then I'm going to continue saying it because it's obviously working."

"Bye, mom."

"Hey," Lorelai called, as Rory walked to the airport entrance, "The therapy thing, don't knock it 'til you try it."

* * *

"Emily," Dr. Chow said, "How have the Friday night dinners been?"

Emily didn't do anything as childish as a shrug but her shoulders lifted a bit. "My daughter claims that my grandson has come down with the flu."

"Claims?"

"Oh please. I wouldn't put it past her to pretends he was kidnapped if it meant not seeing me again."

"What about your granddaughter? You've mentioned her once or twice, have you spoken to her?"

Emily kept her mouth closed and crossed her legs.

"You don't have anyone you could talk to?"

"I'm talking to you aren't I?"

"Emily, you know that this is different. You need a support system of people who know you and love you. Grief isn't something that goes away on its own. Have you tried talking to your daughter? You said it's been a few months since that dinner. She's probably cooled off. In the past, what did you two do after big fights like this?"

"What did we do? Hah," Emily laughed, "I waited around, worried sick that she was going to shut me out of her life like she did after Rory was born and she would come back when she needed help or a check. Usually, it's a check."

"I'm sure that's not true–"

"It's the truth. Didn't you tell me a few weeks ago that sometimes accepting the truth is the only way to move forward? Well, I've accepted the truth about Richard's death. I've started packing up his things to donate to Yale's Alumni center and now I'll have to accept that my daughter and I will have to live separate lives until she finds herself caught out again. There."

Esther nodded before leaning back in her chair. "When you've fought with your daughter or granddaughter before, did you ever reach out first?"

"Excuse me?" Emily asked as she raised an eyebrow.

"There had to be a fight where you didn't make the best choices or you said the wrong thing, right? Did you still wait for someone to come to you before things went back to the way they were before?"

Emily checked her watch. "Our session is over. I'll see you next week."

"Emily–"

Emily didn't look back. Instead of staying in the waiting room for her driver like she usually did, she walked outside. There was a plot of land in front of the therapist's office that Emily could imagine grassy and filled with flowers. Now, with winter just barely ending, the ground was brown and bare. There was a small bench in front of the grass. Emily sat down. She crossed her arms, wishing she had a cigarette in one hand and a drink in another. Or maybe just two drinks. She wanted to talk to someone but the one person she could talk to charged $80 an hour and was a tad too perceptive in Emily's opinion.

Emily sighed and put on her glasses before calling her driver to bring the car around. She stared down at the photo of Rory and James that decorated the back of her phone. It was an incredibly old photo at this point; in it, Rory sat on a pew cradling an infant James in the christening gown that almost every Gilmore child had been blessed in. Emily realized with a frown that with the way things were going, the odds her seeing any child of Rory's were low. The odds of seeing Rory again were even lower. Rory's parting words had been dulled but they ached like an old bone in the rain when she replayed that night in her head.

But truly, Emily hadn't been on her best behavior herself. She couldn't handle her liquor like she used to. Her memory wasn't what it used to be either. She could barely remember why they had been fighting like a pair of wet cats in the first place. Emily opened the contacts on her phone and looked at the three numbers that James had put on speed dial for her.

1-Richard

2-Lorelai

3-Rory

Emily pressed the 3 on her phone before she lost her will. There was no need to worry. Kids these days changed phone numbers like they changed socks. Rory probably wouldn't even answer and Emily could walk back into Esther's office–

"Hello?" A quiet voice asked.

Emily was stunned into silence.

"Hello?" Rory asked again.

Emily's lips flapped for a moment. "Hello Rory, how are you?"

"I'm," Emily heard Rory take a breath, "I'm okay. Um, Lane had her baby so I came back home for a visit."

"How lovely. And how are things? At home?"

"They're fine. Um, James grew another inch so he's one step closer to being the biggest little brother ever."

"Maybe he won't take after his mother and will actually grow into his head."

Hearing Rory's laughter made Emily realize how much she'd missed the sound of it. How much she missed the sound of family. It had been a while since Emily had heard anything but the sound of her own voice.

"Yeah."

Before the silence could get any more awkward, Emily jumped in. "Well, my accountant just informed me that your grandfather–that I received quite a large refund from the charitable donations we made last year. I've put a little into James' bank account. Would you mind if I dropped some in your bank account?"

"Would I mind?"

"Yes. Would you mind? You could take a little trip or buy something nice, maybe a little Burberry bag–"

"No, grandma, thank you but I'm okay. I got a new job."

"Really! How lovely. Well, you and your mother were always good at landing on your feet."

"Yeah." Rory coughed. "Hey, grandma?"

"Yes?"

"Can I call you back? I stepped out of a meeting and if I stand out here on the phone any longer, the office manager is going to break out the bereavement cards."

"Oh, it's fine," It wasn't fine. "You're obviously very busy. Don't worry about calling me back."

"No, I will! It's Wednesday, right? Can I call you before your book club? Like 4:30?"

"Of course. I'll set a reminder on my phone. I can do that now you know. I don't even need a maid to help me."

"Well look at you, give it a few more months and you'll be working for Apple."

"Who?" Why was Rory suddenly talking about fruit?

"Nothing. I'll call you later. Bye."

"Bye."

Emily heard the dial tone and belatedly realized that she would have to tell her account to file her therapy appointments under medical instead of frivolous. She looked up and saw that her town car was idling at the curb around the corner and dangerously close to a fire hydrant. She rolled her eyes, she was not going to deal with her driver's whining when the ticket came out of his paycheck. Maybe she'd just fire him.

She had only just stepped out onto the sidewalk when she heard something familiar.

"Mom!"

Emily paused. She would know that accusatory shriek anywhere. She turned around and watched her daughter pound her away across the parking lot.

"Lorelai," Emily said crossing her arms, "How nice of you–"

"Are you following me?"

"Excuse me?"

"What, are you going deaf in your old age? Are you following me?"

"Of course not! You don't think I have anything better to do–"

"No, I don't think you have anything better to do! You've never had anything better to do! You've spent my entire life following me around waiting for me to screw up so you could rub my nose it."

"How dare you. I've spent your entire life trying to give you the best. The best clothes, the best education, the best role models–but you throw it back in my face at any given moment because I didn't have time to drop everything and listen to you whine!"

"Well good job! Good fucking job! Because not only am I in therapy because you tried to destroy my marriage, I'm in therapy because you've broken my brain. I'm so screwed up that my therapist could tell in a second that I needed all the help I could get."

"No one has put you in the position you are today but yourself! Every decision you've made and every mistake you've made have been 100% Lorelai originals. You try your very best to hurt me and to spit on everything I've sacrificed to keep our family together and it ends up blowing up in your face because you deserve it. Your life is this way because of you, Lorelai."

"Excuse me, ladies." A security guard said as he walked up to them. "I'm going to have to ask you to come inside."


	23. Chapter 23

Lorelai didn't have a mirror but she knew her face was bright red. It was a big, fat, neon sign that informed anyone that had the bad luck of passing by that she was a certifiable head case. When her certification came in the mail, she was going to frame it and put it on the Inn's front door. Lorelai couldn't remember a time she had cried this hard and silently at the same time. Actually, she could. And surprise-surprise! Her mother had something to do with it before!

Christ.

The mother in question was sitting stiff-backed in another waiting room chair two feet away. Her mother hadn't had the decency to even sniff at her after the security guard hauled them inside to wait for Esther who had gone on lunch. Marilyn, the girl behind the front desk, pressed a packet of tissue into her hand and dropped a travel-sized water bottle onto the desk in front of her. Emily snorted.

"I'll guess I'll die of thirst, Marilyn."

Lorelai slammed her hand down on her armrest, "Do you ever stop with this?"

"Do you ever stop with the hysterics?" Emily replied with a raise of her eyebrow.

Esther walked into the waiting room, the security at her heels. She looked at the two of them.

"Emily, Lorelai. What's going on?"

"You know her?" Emily asked.

Esther nodded.

"Wait, wait, hold on a sec'," Lorelai said as she stood up, "You didn't think it was a conflict of interest to be treating me and my basket case of a mother?"

Emily rolled her eyes. Esther's eyes widened before she slapped a hand to her face. "Oh christ. I didn't even realize. I try not to connect my patients to one another outside of our sessions. You guys don't have the same last name–"

Emily put her hand up. "I'm questioning your skills if you couldn't tell that the childish, vindictive Lorelai I spoke about wasn't her."

"Go to hell," Lorelai muttered as she snatched up her purse and jacket. "If you couldn't figure out that the petty and cruel woman whose hated who I am for my entire life wasn't her, maybe I should stop coming."

"Lorelai Gilmore don't you walk out that door with your tail between your legs–"

"Ladies!" Esther said, walking between them. "Let's go into my office so Devin can get back to work."

"No thanks, I've wasted half of my session and need to get out of here as quickly as possible," said Lorelai.

"No, Lorelai let's step into Esther's office so she can hear the truth about you once and for all," Emily said.

"Oh please, I don't have to go to therapy with you to know that your truth is you spending what little breath you have left, telling me how I ruined my life. There! I saved you $80, what a steal!"

"I will not let you leave pretending that I'm the reason your life is the way it is. We are sitting down with Esther and she will find out the truth about you." Emily said.

"Fine." Lorelai turned to Esther, "Get ready to figure out why you have to write so much down in that nice little notebook during my sessions."

Lorelai pulled on her coat and stalked outside. She jumped in her car before slumping over and resting her head on the steering wheel.

She was going to therapy with her mother.

Fuck.

* * *

Lorelai did her best to hold it together as she reheated last night's chicken casserole and waited for Luke to come home. But James, even with his laser-like focus on something called Tik-Tok could tell she was upset.

"Be honest mom, is this a two or three twinkie kind of situation?" he asked, sitting down next to her on the couch.

Lorelai shook her head and wiggled her toes under Paul Anka's belly. "I'm not even sure three twinkies could help me out, right now kid."

"Crap," James. He crossed his arms. "Is it you and dad?"

"No, no, of course not. We promised that if things were getting bad we wouldn't leave you in the dark. It has nothing to do with your dad."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

James let out a breath. "Then what's the problem? You should get dad to punch someone."

"That's an amazing idea but I don't think your dad could punch grandma. She'd punch him first." Lorelai sighed. "Your grandma and I got into a fight."

"Is that why stuff has been so weird at dinner with her?"

"Big time. I found out today that we see the same therapist and she thought it would be a good idea for us to go to therapy together."

"But that's good, right?"

"What?"

"You and dad said that therapy is healthy right? That it can help you guys get better? That just means its gonna make things between you and grandma better."

Lorelai sighed and ruffled James' hair. "Here's to hoping, kid."

Rory had a job. She had a desk and an ID card and an insurance plan. She had a paycheck.

Rory was feeling a lot of things. Happy wasn't one of them. Getting any job that wasn't folding sweaters at the GAP should've made Rory ecstatic. Instead, Rory was watching her life slowly walk backward. Ten years ago, Rory was sitting behind a desk, editing work she didn't care about and wondering when her life was going to start. She was back at the same place but now a pants size bigger.

Rory told herself that she was handling things but she knew she was falling apart. When she came back to New York, Logan had laid out a new outfit for her and told her a car was coming to pick her up for her interview the next morning. Grateful was the word most people would use to describe their feelings about that. Rory felt pitied. It wasn't a feeling she liked.

She wasn't doing a job that she liked. There was a reason Rory didn't major in the sciences when she was in college. Thanks to Logan's advanced elbow-rubbing, Rory was a Senior Editor at BreathBio Health. People in the office now assumed she knew what she was doing. Those people were very wrong. She spent a month playing catch-up in an office where the only passion people had for writing was getting it done and going home to their kids in New Jersey. The worst part was, Rory was getting comfortable. She was getting comfortable at her little desk, googling words like dysesthesia, and leaving at five p.m on the dot. She was going to be stuck in that place, watching real writing pass her by until they rolled her into her eco-friendly grave. Her motivation to do anything close to creative writing was withering away.

* * *

When Rory closed her apartment door behind her, Logan called out from the bathroom. "Rory is that you?"

"No," she said, "I'm a burglar. You can't tell from my voice but I'm actually 6"9 and armed."

"Take the TV. The salespeople lied, the curve doesn't enhance anything." Logan replied, walking into the living room.

Rory accepted a kiss from him and brushed some imaginary lint off of his shoulder. "You're looking very fancy in your suit. Business meeting?"

"Yes. I have a one-on-one with a very beautiful woman who has a secret love for Taylor Swift."

"I like one song!" Rory said. She sat on the couch and toed off her shoes. "But I'm really not in the mood to go out tonight."

Logan laughed. "C'mon, I hear this place makes a porkchop so good, even Rabbi's order out."

"Can't we just order in? Work killed me today. I'm exhausted."

"Is reading that hard?" Logan asked.

"What?"

"I get being tired if you were really working, but it's pharma. The most creative thing that comes out of there is being able to say that you sell drugs for a living." he finished with a laugh.

Logan kissed her cheek. "It's fine. A couple of guys wanted to meet for drinks after work anyways. Knowing them, they'll be there under a table somewhere."

"You're still going out?"

"Yeah," Logan said with a shrug, "Stay here and relax."

Rory watched as Logan pulled on his coat and close the door behind him. She replayed their conversation over in her head. That wasn't an argument. But that nostalgic sight of Logan walking away from her made chest hurt. She called Lane. No answer. A few seconds later she got a text.

At a movie with Henry, call u back later

Okay. Time for option two.

Her mom picked up on the third ring. "Rory! My beautiful, bouncing baby girl! How are you? Let's talk for the next, oh I don't know, 35-50 minutes?"

"That's a very specific chunk of time, my dear mother. Who are you hiding from?"

"Me? Hide? What slander from my only daughter–"

"Rory, stop helping your mother abandon me!"

Rory frowned at her phone before putting it back up to her ear. "Suki? Is that you?"

"Ignore what you just heard, there's no one here but me. And no, that's not Suki in the background. Just the wind!"

"Mom, what are you avoiding?"

Lorelai sighed. "Parents night. Luke skipped because he went last year and someone had to watch the diner. Lucky bastard."

"Mom," Rory said with a laugh, "Go back in there and be a parent."

"But I don't wanna!"

"Mom."

"Fine. But I want extra dessert tonight, even if I don't eat all my vegetables."

"Goodbye, mom."

"Bye," Lorelai groused.

Rory hung up the phone with a smile that quickly dissolved.

Okay, time for option three.

Paris picked up on the second ring. "Rory! You called at a great time."

"I did?"

"Yes. I reached out to my old therapist, the one who had the breakdown? She's currently accepting new patients. Word on the street is that she's on an incredible amount of mood stabilizers and antidepressants, so she's on the mend. I emailed you the link to her practice yesterday. Didn't you see it?"

Rory had seen that email. She deleted it.

"No, sorry, I've been crazy busy."

"I've noticed. It's odd not having you at my dinner table begging for scraps. You must be getting paid well."

"It's not peanuts but I get by."

"Maybe you'll be able to pay for own apartment soon."

Rory cleared her throat. "Here's to hoping. Paris, can I ask you something?"

"God Rory, are you still hung up on the Dean thing? Rory, that's a little sad, he's not even that good looking. Was the sex that great? It couldn't have possibly been. The biggest dick in the world is useless to a teenage boy. You're 32 years old, you've had to had some better sex at this po–"

"Paris! This has nothing to do with Dean! It has to do with a different guy."

"A new guy? It's about time. The last guy you dated–what was his name– Patrick? Paul? I can't believe you dragged that thing out with him for two years. Extremely bottom of the barrel and yet still somehow better than the nonsense you had with Logan."

"What I had with Logan wasn't that bad, Paris," Rory said as she squirmed on the couch.

"Rory, he's the reason you have a criminal record. He was such a smarmy little dick who probably had a smarmy little dick. The only thing he had going for him was his daddy's money and dishwater blonde hair. And I've seen pictures of him on his wife's Instagram, he's graying now so he doesn't even have that to fall back on."

"His wife's Instagram? His wife has Instagram?"

"Of course, she does. She went from a rich heiress to a rich wife, but she's" different" because she has an awful tattoo on the back of her neck. Their Christmas/Hannakuh photos were so tacky. You can't mix green and red and blue and gold. It never works."

"They were together on Christmas?"

"I was surprised too. I thought he would be visiting one of his kept girls for the holidays. Doyle and I went to a fundraiser and the word on the street is that he's got a couple stashed away in the city. They're probably all 23-year-old idiots who think a Gucci belt is the same thing is a 401k."

Rory swallowed. This was not how she expected this conversation to go. Not by a longshot.

"Paris, I have to go."

"What about the problem you're having with your new guy?"

"I already figured it out. Bye."

That was a lie. Rory's boy problems had become a lot more complicated.

* * *

Logan had come home hours later, smelling like booze and stumbling into bed beside her. Rory hadn't been asleep, Paris' nugget of information bouncing around in her brain and keeping her awake. Rory hadn't bothered looking up Odette's Instagram. She learned her lesson with Dean. Paris wouldn't have lied. She had no reason to. She didn't know Rory was playing house with Logan. What she did do was go into the trash section of her email and retrieve Paris' email. The link to Paris' former therapist showed a picture of a woman who looked like the human form of a chihuahua. A few sessions with a woman like that would put her in the nuthouse.

Rory woke up to an empty bed. The sheets beside her were empty and cold. Rory spent snatches of the workday trawling the internet for a therapist. But no one seemed right. Too many offices had ridiculous names or weird sappy logos or had something to do with hypnotism. She wanted something regular and sensible–like the therapist version of Skechers. Two days of searching and Rory stumbled on an ad while she doing some therapy window shopping online. No flowery words or silly declarations, just call if you need help.

Rory took off from work the day of her appointment. She had spent the entire morning making a list of the topics she wanted to discuss that morning. She didn't want to get off track talking about past issues or something silly like that. Her childhood was fine. She needed someone to talk her through her whole Logan-job-whatever that was happening in her life at the moment. If Rory remembered correctly from college, all she needed was one session and maybe a good cry and she would get herself together. She wasn't a once a week type of person. She was no Paris.

Rory was underwhelmed by Dr. Kapoor's waiting room. It was more coffee shop rather than a therapist's office. It was a basement floor so Rory didn't even have the option to look out of the window and daydream. All she had down here was a fish tank, a bored receptionist and an old Cosmo magazine. A middle-aged man shuffled passed her before scuttling out the office door. That was not a future she was aiming for.

"Lorelai," the receptionist called from behind the screen of her computer, "You can go in now."

"Thanks."

Rory grabbed her coat and walked down a short hallway tiled with dingy gray laminate. She poked her into the doorway and Dr. Kapoor was sitting on a bright red chair, a small notepad in her lap and her phone in her hands. Her thick black hair was streaked with gray and cut into an attractive bob. A small gap in her teeth was revealed when she gave Rory a big smile and stood up to greet her.

"Hi Lorelai," she said leading Rory to the low brown couch that sat across from her "Welcome."

"Hi," Rory replied, "Call me Rory, please."

"Okay Rory," Dr. Kapoor said taking a seat as well. "My name is Deva Kapoor and I've been practicing for about ten years, give or take. You can call me Deva or Dr. Kapoor, whatever you're more comfortable with."

"I'll try Deva first. Dr. Kapoor if you're nasty."

Rory covered up her poorly timed joke with a loud cough.

Deva smiled. "Well, Rory. What brings you here today?"

"Glad you asked," Rory replied taking a few printed pieces of paper out of her messenger bag. She handed one to Deva. "I've made a list of the things I want to get through today. Your website said that you only give extra time for emergencies so I picked the most pressing problems for the hour."

Deva raised her eyebrows and scanned Rory's list. "You want to discuss, unpack, and create healthier ways to cope with four things in an hour?"

"We can skip over the discuss and unpack part if that streamlines things."

Deva laughed. "Rory, there's no such thing as lap band therapy. That's not how this whole thing works."

"Lap band?"

"You know, instead of identifying all the habits and emotions that made you obese and trying to address them, you staple your stomach and say you're cured. The people who do that gain all the weight back." We don't have to discuss and unpack why–"

Deva glanced down at Rory's list, "–You can't stay away from men in relationships, but if we don't, you're going to do the same thing over and over again until someone ends up on Snapped."

Rory hunched over herself and rubbed her face. "I just. I don't want to be the person that needs therapy for the rest of their life."

"Do you think that's something shameful?" Deva asked.

"No. Of course not. I'm just don't think I'm messed up enough to need therapy in the first place."

"Let's start there, then." Deva folded Rory's list in half and placed it on the side table next to her. "So Rory. What brings you here today?"


	24. Chapter 24

Being bored to death while listening to a debate on whether Red dye #40 stunts growth at a PTA meeting, Lorelai thought nothing could be more soul-crushing. Sharing a couch with her mother a week later, Lorelai realized how wrong she was.

In Lorelai's opinion, a month of therapy hadn't done a damn thing. Her mother was still the same stubborn, know-it-all. The only upside was that it wasn't her money being wasted. Lorelai had to give it to Esther. How she had not thrown herself out of a window after four straight weeks Lorelai vs. Emily was incredible. On the couch again, Lorelai hoped she could spend the hour in silence, sleeping with her eyes open.

Esther glanced between them before clearing her throat. "Along with the first three sessions, last week's session was kind of tough. Let's try something different today. Let's talk about when your relationship became so hostile."

"Now what's the point of that?" Emily snapped.

"She's got a point here. It's always been like this, there was no turning point. It's just been one long, long, long, long, road straight to hell."

Emily rolled her eyes.

"You're telling me that the two of you have always talked to each other like this, you're entire lives?" Esther asked.

"I'm very sure didn't I have the amazing linguistic skills I have now, but pretty much."

"Oh please, your mouth was just as opinionated when you were born as it is today. You refused to latch no matter how hard I tried and I had to give you formula. Your grandmother never forgave me." said Emily.

"Breastfeeding?!" Lorelai said with a gasp, "How middle class! Were there no wet nurses available in the surrounding lands?"

"Here we go," Emily said, throwing her hands in the air.

"So sorry mommy, I'll sit here quietly like a good little girl," Lorelai replied.

"Hah! I've been waiting for over fifty years to see that."

"Ladies, let's not start this again," Esther said. She turned to Lorelai. "Have you ever noticed that unless you're arguing with Emily, everything you say to her is a little sarcastic? You know, after a while people, even your mother, can confuse a sarcastic voice with your sincere voice and sometimes it can cross the wires of communication."

"Um, I think not. I tell her plenty of things in plain ol' English but she hears what she wants to hear. And when did you become Emily Gilmore's #1 fan? Aren't therapists supposed to be impartial?"

"Give it a rest, Lorelai. She's been on your side the entire month. Don't you think I deserve to have her on my side? All I get out of these sessions is my daughter accusing me that it's been my life goal to torture her."

Esther held her hands in front of her. "I am not on anyone's side. I'm not–"

"Why do you deserve to have her on your side? What, all the money not taking up enough space?"

"The money quip, again? Be a little more original Lorelai and stop pretending you're some poor thing trawling through the gutter. If you had shaped up like your father and I wanted you to, you wouldn't have had to come begging us for an advance every ten minutes."

"Ladies!" Esther shouted. "It would a small but incredible step forward if we could get through one session without dissolving into a shouting. match."

"It would, wouldn't it," Emily said with a shrug of her shoulder.

Lorelai dropped her head on the back of the couch. "Keep the dream alive, Esther." She blew a few strands of hair out of her face. "I don't really see the point of this. I'm not saying you can't try but I've been trying to make my mother like me for a looooong time. I already got off that hamster wheel."

"Is that what you believe Lorelai? That your mother doesn't like you?"

"Yes Lorelai, is that what you think?" Emily echoed.

"You're kidding, right? At what point in my life did you ever admit that loved, let alone liked me?" she asked, turning to face Emily.

"How about the time I clothed you, fed you and sent you to the best schools for sixteen years before you ran off? How about that time?"

"You mean the time you did the bare minimum as a parent? Oh wow, how super!" Lorelai rolled her eyes. " I've been wrong to you my entire life. I wore the wrong things or ate the wrong things or liked the wrong people or listened to the wrong music–it never ended with you! The only reason you and dad didn't put me out the second you found out about Rory was because according to the DAR, the only person worse than the mother of a pregnant teen was the one that kicked them out." Lorelai loomed over her mother, breathing heavily.

"So why don't you just admit mom? Admit that if I wasn't your problem, it would've been you whispering about those poor parents and that girl. Admit that you never liked me."

Lorelai waited for Emily to jump in and stop her. To stop her and tell her she was being silly and that of course, she liked her. To tell her in that prissy voice that only a monster would dislike her only child and to stop being so dramatic. Instead, Emily sat on the couch, back ramrod straight, lips pursed, and head turned to the side.

"Say something!" Lorelai demanded.

Emily twisted her lips and jerked her chin at Esther. "How much time do we have left?"

Lorelai smiled and shook her head. "Just in one ear and right out the other if it's not exactly what you want to hear, huh?" She snatched up her purse and jacket from the couch. "Don't worry about the time, I'm done with this."

Lorelai stormed out of the office, ignoring Esther's pleas for her to stay.

Overlooking the way that the tail end of winter cut through her thin sweater, Lorelai marched to her car and tossed her things in the backseat. She pulled out of the parking lot with ice flowing through her veins. In the back of her mind, Lorelai always knew the other shoe would drop in regards to her mother's feelings about her. No matter the situation or the things her mother said, Lorelai went crawling back, time after time, hoping things would be different in the future. Maybe therapy had been the right choice for Lorelai.

Only a nutcase would've have held onto the idea of Emily Gilmore ever changing her ways.

Lorelai shoved her mental baggage to the back of her mind and moved on. She spent the day at the Firefly on autopilot. Neither Suki or Michel noticed anything wrong or if they did, they didn't mention it to Lorelai's face. As Lorelai sat in her office getting things ready for the night manager, Michel popped in.

"Devin is finally here, an hour late mind you, so I am finally free. Goodnight."

"Hey, Michel?" Lorelai asked.

"What now?" he asked, turning back around.

"Spoiler alert. Stupid question incoming. Do you like me?"

Michel looked surprised by the question. He cleared his throat. "Well, at my last job, I did not like my boss. Before quitting, I drew up an elaborate plan to burn that place to the ground, with him inside. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that arson gets you deported."

Lorelai didn't realize that Michel was a pyromaniac. Somehow that didn't surprise her. "Is that a yes?" she asked.

"Lorelai, I've been married to an American man for six years and a citizen for twelve. If I didn't like you, this place would've been a pile of ash. Now, goodnight Lorelai."

"Goodnight Michel."

* * *

Lorelai tossed Luke US magazine and kept Cosmo for herself.

"That one's a keeper," she said, climbing into bed with him. "Looks like Travis Scott and the littlest Kardashian are heading for a bad time."

Luke rolled his eyes. "I don't care about any of that crap. I read this 'cause it puts me to sleep."

"Really now? So you probably aren't gonna read about Beyonce and Jay-Z's divorce?"

"What?" Luke replied. He flipped through the magazine frantically before glaring at Lorelai.

Lorelai grinned. "This is what every woman dreams of. A man who loves gossip, still has most of his hair and gets called zaddy when his daughter posts him on Instagram."

"Remind me to never let April post pictures of our beach vacation again. People today are so…"

"Creepy?" Lorelai replied.

"No. Godless."

Lorelai snickered and scanned her Cosmo cover. "Ooh, listen to this. '10 Ways to Make Anal Easier'. Fun."

"Like I said. Godless." Luke replied, "Hey, how was therapy today?"

Lorelai shrugged. "Last session."

"How did you and Emily hash out fifty years of crap when it took us two weeks to start looking each other in the face?"

"There was no hashing. I just realized that there's no point in going anymore."

"What do you mean?"

Lorelai shrugged. "Mom and I figured out why we can't get along and since we can't fix it, why go back?"

"What? You can fix it, Esther's good at what she does. You shouldn't give up."

"Even God couldn't fix this, my dear." Lorelai shrugged again. "She doesn't like me. That's it. That's the rub."

"C'mon. Your mother likes you."

"No, Luke. I accused her of some pretty gnarly stuff and she didn't deny any of it. My mother doesn't like me for me. And unless I change overnight into the perfect Connecticut debutant, my mother will never want to be around me. To be fair, this wasn't news or anything," Lorelai said as she flipped a page of her magazine, "But to see her admit that in front of Esther, boy, was that something else."

Lorelai hadn't taken her eyes off of Cosmo's glossy pages while recounting her therapy session with Emily. When his heavy arm wrapped around her, she closed the magazine so her tears wouldn't smudge the pages.


	25. Chapter 25

Luke's eyes were boring a hole into the back of her nice dinner dress. It was starting to freak her out. She looked at him, sitting on the bed, wrinkling the one pair of slacks that he owned.

"What's with the face?" she asked. "This dress show too much cleave or do you need me to request you a big glass of prune juice tonight?"

"We don't have to go to dinner tonight, you know that right?" Luke asked.

"I'm not wasting great blow out like this on a night in. We're going."

"Lorelai, I'm serious."

"That is true. You are seriously overreacting. My mother has never liked me. Her admitting it in therapy a few days ago doesn't change anything. It's not a big deal."

"Lorelai-"

"Plus, I'm dealing with it in a healthy way. I'm talking to you, my husband, about it. I'm going to tell Esther, my therapist, about it. I cried, I journaled a whole paragraph about it on a Starbucks napkin. I mean, I'm the poster girl of well-adjusted therapy-goers. I deserve a medal with how well I'm dealing with this."

Luke didn't look convinced.

"And the fact that I can go and have dinner with her without setting my very flammable childhood home on fire is a testament to my well adjusted-ness."

She threw herself into Luke's laps and gave him a kiss. "So stop being a poopy-pants, take off your hat, put on your tie, and let's get this show on the road."

"If you say so," Luke said tossing his hat off.

"I do say so," Lorelai replied jumping off his lap.

Luke rummaged through his dresser. "What tie should I wear? I know your mom hates the yellow one you gave me."

"She does. Wear that one."

He looked up at the sound of the doorbell. "You expecting someone?" he asked Lorelai.

"No. Might be a Jehovah's Witness."

"I don't think they're allowed to be out at night."

"Mom," James yelled up the stairs, "It's grandma. You wanna pretend we're not home again?"

"Wouldn't work," Lorelai said to Luke, "Our cars are in the driveway."

Damn the garage being full of all her crap. She yelled down to James "Yeah, let her in!"

"Did she forget we were coming by or what?" asked Luke.

"Or what. Might as well go meet my maker."

Emily stood in the foyer, diligently listening to James talk about whatever 8-year-olds talked about.

"Lorelai," she said, "You walk around barefoot now? How cultured."

"Either that or break my neck trying to walk downstairs in 5-inch heels. Mom, what are you doing here? It's Friday. We go over there, we eat, we talk, we have a grand ole' time, remember?"

"I felt like a change of pace and thought we could have dinner here."

"Mom I can guarantee you that you will not want anything Luke cooks. He's lovely but he's not a Michelin star chef you've beat into submission."

"Fine. Let's order in." Emily replied.

"I want Dominos!" James said.

"The fast-food place? There aren't any authentic Italian restaurants around here?"

"There's Magello's but my teacher's older brother runs that place and he's Albanian," James said.

"Albanian? From Albania? I won't have any of that." Emily said before sighing. "I guess I'll have a salad from Dominos."

"I'll have you know that those fine people at Magello's are hardworking and have a passable Italian accent," Lorelai said.

"No thank you. Run and grab the phone James so I can place my order." Emily replied.

"I'll just order it online," James replied.

"Ordering on the phone must be faster," Emily replied.

"Nah. Plus, if I order on the phone, I won't know the exact second my pizza goes into the oven. That's my favorite part!" James said as he ran to his bedroom.

"I better go supervise. If I don't we're gonna end up with a mac and cheese pizza or some crap like that." Luke said before walking after him.

"Here mom, let me take your coat." Lorelai offered.

"Lorelai I need to talk to you," Emily replied, not moving to disrobe at all.

"Uh, okay," Lorelai replied as she lowered her arms. "I thought we were already making nice dinner convo, but whatever. Shoot."

"I want to talk about what happened in therapy," Emily replied.

Lorelai blinked. Then she chuckled. "Mom, do you want a drink?" she asked before walking into the kitchen.

"Lorelai did you hear me?" Emily asked as she followed. "I said I wanted to talk about what happened in therapy."

Lorelai dropped a pair of shot glasses onto the counter and pulled out a bottle of gin from the fridge. "How about gin?" she asked, "You still drink gin?"

Without waiting for a response, Lorelai poured herself and her mother each a healthy portion.

"Bottoms up," she said as she knocked it back.

"Lorelai, you're being ridiculous. You make me spend all that money on therapy and you don't even have the decency to discuss it like an adult."

Lorelai pursed her lips and pointed to the back door. "Get out."

Emily put her hands on her hips. "Excuse me?"

"If I'm going to screech at you in the middle of the night I'd rather do in the yard with the rest of the alley cats. Now move."

Ignoring her bare feet, Lorelai followed her mother outside to the back porch and closed the door behind her.

"You're going to catch ringworm standing out here without your shoes on Lorelai," Emily said as she crossed her arms.

"You said you wanted to talk about what happened in therapy. So talk."

Emily pursed her lips. "I understand that what happened in therapy was hurtful for you."

"Okay."

"But I think that continuing therapy together could help dissolve this mutual hatred we have for each other."

"Are we on the same plane of reality here?" Lorelai asked as she squinted her eyes. "Mutual hatred? No, no. This is a 'you' problem, not a 'me' problem."

"Be realistic, Lorelai. It wouldn't be the first time a Gilmore didn't have a taste for me. You're a mosquito bite compared to your grandmother. God bless her soul, wherever it is."

"This is kind of amazing," Lorelai replied, leaning against the porch railing, "Like, my mind is blown. You are the most self-centered person on the face of the universe but you never noticed how jealous I am of you."

"Jealous of me? Are you kidding? What exactly are you jealous of?"

"Everything, mom. How could you not see that?"

"Oh please. You think everything I do is a joke. That I'm a joke. You're always laughing at me."

"I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing at me! I can't do anything you can do. I could never do anything you do. And you and dad and everyone we knew never let me forget it." Lorelai stared out into the dark outside and sighed. "Did you know that in 6th grade Bethany Platz asked me if you accidentally took home a janitor's kid?"

"Children are cruel Lorelai, you should know that."

"That's not the point, mom. The point is that even children could not believe that you, Emily Gilmore, the woman their parents would kill to be, had this mess of a kid. I know you think I stopped trying to have anything to do with you but I was just mad as hell I couldn't do anything you could do. And I had to laugh because if I wasn't laughing at the fact that I couldn't memorize table settings or that I couldn't write a perfect thank-you note, I would not have made it."

Lorelai sighed again. "And even though I knew that I would never figure it out, I tried mom. I really, really tried for a long time."

"Really now? I suppose you tried very hard when you ran off with Rory."

"I ran off with Rory because I didn't want her to turn out like me. You have standards that Edmund Hillary couldn't reach. She didn't need to live like that."

"So living in a trussed up hovel at the back of the hotel was better than a nanny, finishing school, the best education–"

"Yes, it was! It was better than her ending up like me."

Emily pressed her lips together in a tight line.

"I was–am that dog that gets rescued from a bad situation and keeps going back until somebody has to put it out of its misery. I can't help it. So, mom, we're going to keep going around in this circle until you man up and give me the Old Yeller treatment. What's it gonna be?"

Emily's nostrils flared. "I'm going to make sure that James didn't forget my salad. Put some shoes on."

Lorelai leaned over the porch and listened to the sound of the back door swing closed behind her.

She stood alone in the quiet of the night before Luke joined her.

"Still barefoot, huh?"

"Oh yeah. I'm going, full native. I'll be living in the bush by next week."

"You plan on staying out here all night?" He asked.

"Gimme a sec' before I get back on the express train into Emily Gilmore hell."

"You need me out here?"

"My little piggies could use some protection," Lorelai said with a smile.

"Gotcha." Luke squeezed her shoulders and ran back inside.

Lorelai looked down at her feet. They did need protection.

Maybe her heart does too.


	26. Chapter 26

Rory and Logan were doing better. They saw each other, talked to each other, and laughed with each other. Had it not been for the Odette shaped elephant in the room, Rory would consider it the perfect relationship.

"It sounds like you still haven't told Logan that you're coming to see me," Deva said, doing her best to throw the ugly reality of her life right in her face.

"You've got great hearing," Rory muttered before nodding. "I haven't talked to him about this."

"Why not?"

Rory was kicking herself for asking Deva to be harsher with her to make her therapy as effective as possible. The soothing voice and tranquil questioning that Deva had used at their first few sessions did nothing but annoy Rory. She wasn't a nutcase. Rory was sure she could handle all the truth that Deva threw at her. Rory had been wrong. So, so wrong.

"It's never come up," Rory replied.

"What do you and Logan talk about then?"

"Work, his friends, what we're gonna eat..." Rory let the sentence hang and thought about the question.

What did she and Logan talk about?

"How is work, by the way?" Deva asked, interrupting her soul-searching. "Still soul-crushingly boring?"

"Of course. But it gives me a lot of time to keep my portfolio updated while Logan finds me some leads for me. I hope one comes up soon. Sitting at that desk is killing me back."

"Are you looking for work on your own?"

"I was, but Logan has better connections than I do. If I did it, it'd be a waste of time."

"You think that investing in yourself is a waste of time because someone else can do it better?" Deva asked.

"That's not what I said," Rory replied crossing her arms.

Deva tapped her pencil against her notepad. "What do you do when you don't have work?" she asked.

"I read, do a little writing, you know. Logan and I go out to dinner and stuff like that."

"Who do you go out with when Logan's busy?"

Lane's name was at the tip of her tongue before she stopped herself. She hadn't seen Lane since the whole Dean fiasco back in Stars Hollow. Jess was doing his best to be the lead in Frozen on Broadway and was still giving her the coldest of cold shoulders. Outside of Lane's sparse video chats, Logan was the only face she saw on the regular. Rory had made friends during her time at The Journal but there had been nothing but radio silence from them. Paris and Doyle had a standing open door policy but the twins' chaotic energy kept her from going back too often. Rory hadn't even bothered trying to make friends with her new coworkers, knowing she would only be there for three months, tops. Outside of her family back home, Rory really didn't know...anyone.

"Rory?" Deva said, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"No one, I guess. Most of my family and friends are from Connecticut."

"You told me that you've lived in New York on and off for about six years. You don't know anyone up here?"

"A couple of my college friends live up here but they have kids and you know the whole drill. There's Jess but," Rory sighed, "There was this whole thing that happened–he won't talk to me. I've tried."

"Who's Jess?"

"My ex-boyfriend/step-cousin. It's not as creepy as it sounds, I promise!" Rory said at the shocked look on Deva's face, "We dated way before my mom and his uncle got together. He's a great guy."

"Why won't he talk to you?"

"I guess I did a crappy thing to him but, in my defense, I did it because it was the best choice for me and my career."

"What'd you do?"

"So I blew an interview. Titanic level bomb. I vented to Jess and he connected me with a senior editor from Buzzfeed. I told Logan about the interview and he gave me some good advice and I decided not to go to the interview. I told Jess I was sorry but he won't speak to me."

"It's a little strange to be so upset with someone for canceling an interview. Is Jess like this a lot?" Deva asked.

"I didn't exactly cancel. I didn't show up. Buzzfeed probably has thousands of people coming in for interviews every day, I don't know why it was such a big deal."

Deva frowned. "You can't understand why Jess is upset that you were a no-show at an interview that he got his friend to give to you?"

"I can understand why he's upset. I'm not an idiot." Rory snapped. "One missed interview isn't the end of the world and Jess is acting like it is."

"I'm no journalism expert but Logan must have given you some top-notch advice for you to turn down an opportunity to work on some serious stuff at Buzzfeed. Or did Jess's friend ask you to be a mail clerk or something?"

"The Buzzfeed job was mid-level and Logan didn't have another job lined up for me but he knows the industry. His father is a big deal. He gets this stuff. Anyways, the job wasn't paying me enough. It wouldn't have been good for me."

Deva leaned back in her chair. "Why did you become a writer?" she asked.

Rory furrowed her brow. That question certainly came out of left field. "I used to make up stories a lot as a kid. I would write them down and draw stupid stick figures or whatever. I did it so much that mom said that I was made to be a writer. It was my destiny! But when I got to middle school I figured out that writing made no money and I was not trying to be a starving artist. Journalism was the closest thing to being a writer that didn't have me living on government cheese."

"And you said a few sessions back that you were a Yale Alumni. Was Yale your first choice?"

Deva was really going off-script here. Rory had no idea how any of these questions had anything to do with what they were talking about.

"My first choice was Harvard actually. My mom and I always dreamed of me going there but my grandparents wanted me to Yale since my grandfather went there too. My grandfather ended up being right about Yale, so I went there."

Deva sighed. "Rory, I'm going to ask you something. I'd like you to realize that I'm not asking to offend you, okay?"

Rory nodded as her heart rate spiked.

"Have you ever made a hard decision about your future on your own?" Deva asked.

Rory tucked her hair behind her ears. "I don't understand the question."

"When we're together, you tell me about other people's opinions a lot. I know what your mom thinks, what your boyfriend thinks, what your friends think, and everyone else who's ever made decisions for you."

"I make my own decisions."

"Folding under the pressure of other people is not called making decisions. It's called a hostage situation."

"No one is holding me hostage!" Rory said. She stood up and began to pace the room. "There's nothing wrong with talking to people about things you're not sure about. It's an in-person 'pros' and 'cons' list. There's nothing wrong with that."

"There is nothing wrong with that, but that's not what you've been doing. What you've been describing is you making major life decisions that affect only you, based on what other people want for you."

Rory sat down and stared at the clenched fists in her lap.

"Why is it wrong to listen to people who know more than me? Isn't that the literal definition of therapy? Should I stop going to the doctor too?"

She was being snippy but she couldn't help it. Deva was telling her that she spent her entire life being a pushover and it wasn't a great feeling.

"When you know more about human psychology and physiology than me or your primary care physician, feel free to stop going. But I doubt that anyone in your life knows more about Rory Gilmore than Rory Gilmore."

"But some people know–"

"Forget about some people and whatever they know. It's easy to let people tell you what to do because if things go wrong, you don't have to take the blame. But you can't live your life waiting for someone who thinks they know what's best for you to tell you what to do."

"Every time I make a major decision, I make the wrong one," Rory said.

Rory could count the number of decisions she made on her own that didn't turn out to be huge mistakes.

"Then make the wrong decisions, Rory. You are one person in a world of billions. You can make every right decision and not have things work out. You can't live your life in fear of the inevitable. You won't live at all."

* * *

Stuffing Twinkie #3 in her mouth, Rory faintly remembered the talk she had with Deva about stress eating. It was hard to follow the advice when the office snack cabinet was right there. It was every stoner's dream. There were Dorito's, Ho-Ho's, and Devil Dogs as far as the arm could reach. To offset the influx of sugar, Rory swiped a travel-sized box of raisins. If that wasn't balance, she didn't know what was.

"It's Lorelai, right?" A woman said as she walked into the office kitchenette.

Rory swallowed her half-chewed twinkie and nodded. "I go by Rory, but yeah, that's me."

"Denise," she replied, offering her hand to shake, "I wanted to thank you for hopping on our launch last week. I know that the female health sector isn't your specialty, but you handled it like a pro."

"Thanks, it was no big deal. I'm happy to help."

"Hey, are you free right now? One of the clients popped by the office, I'd love to tell her you're the reason we got everything out the door when we needed."

That was the last thing Rory wanted to do. Rory wanted to schlep back to her desk and pretend that she was going to eat those raisins before giving them to a homeless man on the way home. But Deva did ask her to be more social.

"Sure," Rory said with a shrug, "Lead the way."

That night, Logan saved Rory from ordering far too much pity pizza by dragging her to a party in Soho. She ignored when Logan introduced her as a "friend from college". Listening to Logan's friends schmooze about recent media takeovers had wiped any of Deva's words out of her head. She was too busy trying to evaporate from boredom. In the car ride back to the apartment Logan patted her thigh and smiled at her.

"You were energetic tonight. Getting easier to mark up semicolons down at the office?"

"You bet. I met one of the clients and the creative director of the launch I worked on last week. My boss also told me that I am a joy to work with and no one has a bad word to say about me."

"Anybody with a brain has nothing but good things to say about you."

Their taxi pulled up to the apartment and Logan helped her out.

"So that bald guy in the Nordstrom Rack suit is brainless?" Rory replied stepping into the elevator.

Logan rolled his eyes, "Rory the average age of my compatriots is about 106. They're all bald guys. You gotta give me more than that."

"You know, the bald guy who had about twenty rings on each finger and kept flashing that very fake Rolex."

"You're an expert in luxury goods now, huh? That's a step up from someone who didn't know what a Birkin was."

"I was young then. I'm mature and now know that Birkin bags are a bigger waste of time than I thought they were. What's the point of a bag if I'm too afraid to put an egg McMuffin in because it's so expensive."

Logan laughed as he unlocked their door. "An egg McMuffin in a Birkin. God, I can't wait to tell Honor about that. But I know who you're talking about. Fat Bastard."

He held his hands up at the affronted look on Rory's face. "Don't give me that look. I didn't make it up. He's a heavy hitter from the finance department. Don't even worry about him. Guy's a nutcase. That's what happens when you marry your psychiatrist."

"He married his therapist?"

"No. Psychiatrist. The man has had full access to a prescription pad and woman who believe Klonopin and Adderall cocktails will solve everyone's problems. Especially her husband's."

"Hey, it's not her fault her husband couldn't shut up about how sensitive millennials are these days. That's his own problem." Rory argued.

"That whole industry is a scam. My dad sent me to a therapist after I totaled my third Porsche when I was 17. One of the best therapists on the East coast he said. He paid that idiot to tell him to stop buying my cars. Christ."

"Aren't one of your aunt's bipolar?"

Logan drained his wine glass and gulped down what was left of Rory's. "Everyone in my family's fucking bipolar. I get that people need meds to keep them from being pulled out of the Hudson but talking about feelings is bullshit."

"Bullshit?" Rory echoed.

"Bullshit," Logan said, slumping into the couch and staring at the ceiling. He tapped his empty wine glass with the metal of his wedding ring. "Total bullshit."


	27. Chapter 27

_!Shout out to two very lovely reviewers: Nancy and 52Shari. It's a great feeling to have such strong supporters. I look forward to your reviews each time I post!_

* * *

If Rory walked around the block for the fifth time, someone would call the cops. It was a Saturday afternoon so Rory was sure Jess would be home. She didn't want to give him a chance to turn her away so she was waiting to slip in behind one of his neighbors. Rory was glad she talked herself out of the black beret and black sunglasses. There was such a thing as being too sneaky. Finally, the cute couple she followed turned and walked towards Jess's building. They unlocked the lobby door and held the door open for Rory. Nice people.

Rory spent the ride up to Jess's apartment talking herself out of being there in the first place. Rory hadn't talked to anyone about her plan to visit Jess. Not Lane, not her mother, and not Deva. Taking in the peeling white paint on Jess's door, Rory rang the bell. She couldn't hear any noise from the other side of the door. If Jess wasn't home, she could write this whole thing off as a stupid idea and continue making sad phone calls for forgiveness. She could return her gift and everyone would be none the wiser.

Jess opened the door and stared at her. Rory swallowed and held out a gift bag to him. "I bought more scotch."

He took the bag and peeked inside. "Looks cheap," he said.

Rory rolled her eyes and punched him in the shoulder before dragging him into a hug. "I'm so sorry," she said into his shoulder.

Jess patted her on the back of the head. "Give it a rest. I deal with enough snot during my day job."

Rory laughed and walked inside. Jess shut the door behind them and rummaged through the bag some more.

"What's with the chips and dip?" he asked.

"It's lunch. I've got the whole food pyramid. Tortilla chips, carb. Salsa, fruit, and vegetables. Dinking scotch in the middle of the day is a cry for help."

Jess tossed the bag on the couch. "I prefer Chinese and scotch," he said before grabbing a menu from the many that decorated his coffee table.

"What are you doing?" Rory asked as Jess held his phone up to his ear.

"Getting Chinese."

"On the phone?" Rory asked, sitting next to her bag of chips, salsa, and scotch.

"Yes. Is there a problem?"

"No problem. I just didn't realize that it was 2001 again. Ever heard of something called "an app"?"

Jess shook his head and recited his order into the phone before ending the call. "The phone is faster."

"What if you order and suddenly and realize you don't have any cash?"

"I always carry cash," Jess replied.

"Luke, is that you?" Rory asked with a laugh.

"You talk a lot of shit for someone who came here to grovel."

Rory's laughter stopped at once. Jess was right. She was schlepped all the way to beg for forgiveness because she had been a dick and now, she was still being a dick.

"Rory, c'mon, I was joking," Jess said, sitting down next to her. "I stopped being mad at you weeks ago."

"Weeks ago? But you haven't talked to me. You never texted back."

Jess ruffled his own hair. "The spring semester's almost here so I've been playing catch up and trying to submit all my grades in time. One of the other English teachers 'found herself' on a birthright trip and hauled ass to become a Rabbi. I got stuck with all her shit. Grading over 300 essays really sucks the life outta you."

Jess popped into his bedroom and came back out holding a velcro and fabric contraption. "I had to buy a fucking wrist brace. I'm falling apart over here."

"It's like you're aging before my very youthful eyes," Rory replied.

Jess tossed the brace at her and rolled her eyes. Rory caught it and began to fiddle with it. "I am sorry Jess. It was messed up to bail on an interview that you worked hard on getting me. I could've called."

"You know," Jess replied, "Usually I make my kids write a four-page thesis on what they did wrong before I accept an apology but, I'll make an exception for old friends."

Rory smiled, "Thanks for treating me better than I deserve, Jess."

Over fried rice, potstickers, and reasonably priced scotch, Rory brought Jess up to speed on the car crash that was her life.

"Pharma advertising, huh?" Jess said after she mentioned her job, "Not bad. I hear that's good money."

"Yep. I bought that scotch all by myself, like a big girl."

"You plan on sticking it out at this place?" he asked.

Rory shrugged. "It's something to do until I find an actual writing job."

Jess nodded and scooped a spoonful of rice into his mouth. Rory dug into the takeout bag and pulled out a fortune cookie. She broke it open before taking a deep breath.

"You know, I started going to therapy," she confessed.

"No shit? Welcome to the club. What made you go?"

Probably the fact that she would always be Logan's dirty little secret. Rory blinked at the thought that decided to stab her right between the eyes. Rory shook the thought loose. "It was a lot of stuff squished into one. I thought I was handling it but Paris told me I was acting crazy, so I decided to take the plunge."

"Paris Geller called you crazy? Did you shoot up a school?"

"Shut up," Rory replied, flicking a stray rice grain at him. "All you have to know is that when you're too crazy for Paris Geller, you have to do something about it."

Jess nodded, "Truer words have never been spoken, man."

* * *

Sitting alone in Logan's apartment, Rory was shocked that she had forgotten one of the major reasons she had started going to therapy in the first place. Her career as a journalist was going nowhere. No one had responded to her about open positions. She couldn't even get an 'all positions are filled' email. It was pathetic. The longer Rory went without an interview the farther away Rory tumbled away from being the one thing she'd dreamed her whole life of being: a journalist. Thinking thoughts like that, the idea of staying put as a senior editor in the wonderfully boring world of pharmaceutical advertising didn't sound so bad. She'd have a steady paycheck, at least and would be able to stop leaching off of Logan. But God, she was a journalist! That is what she was meant to be! Not a proofreader who clicked buttons all-day to make sure there weren't too many spaces in a paragraph. That wasn't supposed to be her. She was supposed to do more with her life. She slid into bed, alone and anxious.

There had to be more to life than that.

The next morning, Rory was alone again. Everything was in the same state that she had left it when she went to bed so Logan hadn't come home at all. Rory wasn't annoyed by that anymore. It had been happening so much that it had turned into a new normal. He'd eventually scrape himself up from whatever floor he was passed out on and come back. Where else would he be on a Sunday morning?

She was at the kitchen island trying to figure out whether instant ramen being the first meal of the day made her a hot mess when her phone rang. Seeing James' face on her phone sent her into a panic. James didn't believe in phone calls. And he was calling her before noon? Somebody had to have died.

"James?" she asked after she snatched her phone up, "What's wrong? What's going on?"

"Nothing? What's your problem?"

"My problem? James, you're the one using your phone to call me instead of sending me Spongebob memes at 10 in the morning. Either something or someone is on fire."

"I do other stuff on my phone," James said.

"Watching people play Fortnite doesn't count as other stuff, you little turd."

"Whatever mega turd. Queen of Turdland. Mother of the turd dragons."

"I'm hanging up."

"Wait, wait, wait! Don't hang up! I need your help," James pleaded.

"You're barking up the wrong tree. Gous shakedown grandma, she actually likes you."

"Ugh, it's not money. It's a girl," he said, voice breaking.

"A girl? Like a real girl?" Rory said.

"No, a fake girl. What do you think?"

Rory could picture James rolling his eyes but she didn't care. This was a big moment. A big, big moment. James had come to her about girl problems. It made sense since Rory couldn't think of another girl with as many problems as her at the moment.

"Um, okay, alright." Rory took a deep breath. "What's the problem."

"Brenda Nichols kissed me," James said. "On the mouth!"

"When did you become a Cassanova?" Rory asked.

"A what? Rory, what am I supposed to do?"

Rory wracked her brain. She hadn't been 8 for a long, long time and back when she was 8 she certainly was kissing boys on the mouth.

"Maybe you should talk to Luke about this," she replied.

"Ew, no. I need help from an actual girl. You only kiss people on the mouth cause you wanna be their girlfriend, right?"

"Right?"

"That's what I thought! But Mackenzie saw Brenda kissing Joon the other day. Does she want me or Joon? Do I gotta fight him for her? I don't see the point of that because Joon and Crystal hang out with each other every weekend and eat lunch together every day and you can't have two girlfriends, that's not allowed. Is that allowed?"

"Uh, you should only have one girlfriend or boyfriend at a time but sometimes people have more than one. Those people are bad. Bad, bad people."

"Okay, so what do I do? I like Brenda but she can't kiss people that aren't me! It's BS!"

Trying to navigate the Dangerous Liaisons of the playground was too much for Rory this early in the morning. Especially when she had her own problems to deal with.

"Look. You can't tell Brenda who she can and can't kiss. Uh, it's her body and she can do what she wants with it. If you don't like it, tell her to stop kissing you."

"That's it?"

"Yes." Maybe? Rory didn't know but it didn't matter. James was eight. In a week the whole thing would be behind him.

"Fine. Hey Rory, can you Venmo me $50?"

"No! I just got this new job which I won't be staying in so I need to save my money."

"Mom told me your new job is easy, pays you lots of money, and lets you go home early so I know you're not quitting. Lemme borrow $50!"

"I am quitting, go beg grandma for money."

"Why are you quitting?"

"I want to be a writer again, so when I find another writing job I'll quit this one."

"Does writing pay more?"

"Not really?"

"Is it easier?"

"Definitely not."

"So why are you quitting? If I had your job I would stay and keep all the money and be rich and write when I come home early."

"You can't do that."

"Why not?"

Rory blinked. Why couldn't she? Rory ended the call soon after, with James still pestering her an advance to probably buy a new sword in one of his games.

If Rory wasn't a journalist than what was she? Other people had hobbies or kids or spouses. All Rory had was writing. All Rory ever had was writing. It was the constant in her life. She didn't always have a father but she had writing. Men in her life had come and gone, but she could write.

If Rory wasn't a writer, she was just Rory Gilmore.

But who the hell was Rory Gilmore?


	28. Chapter 28

Rory all but bulldozed into Deva's office when her next session rolled around.

"It's nice to see someone's excited for therapy," Deva said, as she shut the door behind Rory.

Rory tossed her bag onto the couch and began to pace. She stopped and smacked her hands together. "I have good news," she said.

"Let's hear it," Deva replied, taking a seat.

"I'm going to keep working at BCB Health. If things don't work out there, I'll start looking for jobs as a senior editor, not as a journalist."

"Really? You were so against staying there a little while ago. What changed your mind?"

"I want to learn how to be Rory. Not Rory Gilmore, journalist. When I started writing, everyone in my life was so proud of me. And I was so good at it that I thought that being a journalist was my destiny. I still love journalism and still love writing but I shouldn't have made that my job. I am strictly a writing as a hobby kind of girl." Rory laughed. "Ugh, I can't believe Mitchum Hunztberger was right about me."

"Mitchum?"

"Logan's dad. Billionaire. Newspaper mogul. Almost won a Pulitzer."

"How nice."

"Yeah, nice. He gave me my first internship at a newspaper, his newspaper. He told me that after working with me that I didn't have what it took to be a journalist. That I wasn't gutsy enough."

"How'd you respond to that?"

"Remember the story about me stealing a boat?" Rory replied.

"Gotcha."

"My job shouldn't be the only thing that makes me happy. It should make me money so I can do things to make myself happy, you know? Like being able to afford an apartment that allows pets so I can live with my cat again."

Deva nodded, "You're right. A lot of people fall into the trap of needing their job to give them purpose. While it's lovely to find your calling, so to speak, the odds that working in a mailroom or sweeping floors is one's calling are not high. I'm glad you've made this decision for yourself, Rory."

"Me too."

"How did Logan react when you told him? It must have been shocking."

Rory slipped down onto the couch. "I haven't told him yet."

"Have you told him you've been going to therapy?"

"Also no."

"What's stopping you from telling him?"

Rory twisted her lips. "You remember that my list of Therapy goals had us figuring out why I can't stay away from men in a relationship?"

"Oh," Deva said. "Logan has a girlfriend."

"Wife, actually."

Deva was silent for a moment before nodding. "Thank you for telling me, Rory."

Rory raised her eyebrows. "That's it? That's your response to the fact that I'm the sluttiest slut to have ever slutted for sleeping with a guy who's been married for two years?"

"You've already acknowledged that what you're doing isn't the smartest or healthiest. You don't need me telling you my opinion on extramarital affairs to influence how you already feel about the situation."

"You mean like shit?" Rory replied. "This isn't even the first time I've slept with a married man, you know. I lost my virginity to a married man, Deva. The fact that every shirt I own doesn't have flaming 'A' is the biggest mystery since January Jones' baby daddy."

"I'd like you to take a break on beating yourself up." Deva said, "You are not some incredible mind-controlling succubus. The men who slept with you are equally to blame. It takes two to do the horizontal tango, Rory. How did you end up losing your virginity to a married man?"

Though it made her want to curl up and die, Rory recounted the story of 'Rory and Dean'. From the blissful first kiss to the sex to the messy goodbye. Like Rory hadn't been trying to not think about that since Dean ran from her.

"And you're obviously repeating this bad decision making with Logan. You said you broke up after you graduated from Yale, how did you two end up reconnecting?"

"By accident. He was in the same apartment building and I was a little sad and a little drunk so we slept together."

"Did you know he was married?"

"Not until the morning after. But he told me that the thing between him and Odette–"

"His marriage?"

Rory rubbed her arm, "Yeah, his marriage was more business than love. Her father is big in media in England and Mitchum was looking to expand."

"And you believe that?"

"Yes?"

"Is that a question?"

"No?"

"Is that a question?"

"I don't know!"

Deva held up her hands to calm Rory down. "Okay, fine. Why were you sad the first time you and Logan reconnected?"

"My grandfather died," Rory said as she began to pick at the skin on her thumbnail, "And I lost my job and my grandmother and I had a huge fight. It was...messy."

"I can imagine. So, things between you and Logan are good?"

"Yes?"

"Now that was definitely a question," Deva replied.

"Things between us are good but it's become too familiar. Like one huge deja vu episode or something. I don't get it. I don't get anything. First Dean, now Logan. Do you think I have a fetish for married men? Should I write for Penthouse now?

"No fetishes here. You just let your very human emotions steer you into very human decisions, which can be bad sometimes."

"You're losing me, Deva," Rory replied.

Deva smiled, "All of the relationships you'll ever have, will be associated with something. That something could a song or a smell or a feeling. For the rest of your life, that song or smell will remind you of a relationship whether it was good or bad. Dean was your first love. You probably felt safe and happy with him before breaking up and in a time of stress, you might have wanted the security again, even though he was married to someone else. These kinds of relationships don't last because you rediscover the reasons you broke up the first time. "

The hamster wheel that was Rory's brain started turning. When she decided to jump into bed with Dean like the teenage Jezebel she was, things at Yale had been shaky. She was living away from her mom for the first time ever and she had been having a tough time adjusting. Dean's dick had been her security blanket.

Ew.

Rory crossed her arms. "I don't think so. What's happening between me and Logan now is different. Dean and I were never going to work out. I was at Yale all the time and he was stuck in Stars Hollow. We were never going to see each other. We were going different places. Logan and I aren't."

Deva crossed her arms. "Where exactly are you, Logan, and Odette going Rory?"


	29. Chapter 29

"Do you still feel comfortable with me, Emily?"

Emily rolled her eyes. "What kind of question is that? I'm here, aren't I? The money you take from me is still good, isn't it?"

"Emily," Esther began.

"I've sat through so many of Lorelai's little performances that I should have my own private box. What's one more public one? It hardly matters. I'm going to be dead soon anyway. Lorelai will put me in the finest pop can and toss my ashes in the filthiest toilet she can find. Probably somewhere in New York."

"Performance? You think that Lorelai acted like that because I was here?" Esther asked.

Emily shrugged. "Who knows. It wouldn't be the first time she's tried to make a scene in public. Only now my therapy points are all gone."

Esther rubbed her forehead and sighed. "We discussed this. There are no points in therapy."

"That sounds like something someone with no therapy points would say."

"Have you and Lorelai talked at all since your last joint session?" Esther asked.

"Yes."

"And?"

"And what? You've had three sessions with her since then, she's had to have told you by now."

"We're not talking about that, right now. What did you and Lorelai talk about?"

Emily rolled her eyes again. "Fine. I went over there a few days after her little episode to try and clear the air. Instead, she went on a ridiculous rant full of nonsense to try and make me feel guilty as if I didn't feel bad enough."

"What did you have to feel bad about?"

"My entire life. You sat there and watched her tell me that every choice I made trying to raise her the best I could, was absolute torture. How was I supposed to feel after hearing that? Happy? Everything I did raising Lorelai meant nothing." Emily crossed her arms. "I was worthless."

"You're not worthless because you made a...few parenting mistakes. There is more to you than that."

Emily smirked as Esther fumbled for a way to describe what she had done. Typical.

"No, there is more to _you_ than that. There is more to Lorelai than that. All I've ever been is a mother. I was raised to be a mother. That's all I was allowed to want to be. I threw little parties and joined clubs and went to college, but my greatest accomplishment was supposed to be my family. Some accomplishment that was."

"Emily, you're being very hard on yourself."

"Why shouldn't I? Lorelai described our relationship as one between a dog and it's master. That I've been kicking her all her life and she would come crawling back, no matter what. She then asked me when I was going to give her the Old Yeller treatment."

"That's creative," Esther said as she leaned back in her chair.

"She always is, isn't she."

"What Lorelai said about you not liking her, was she telling the truth?"

Emily stared down at her hands. "Yes. If," she sighed and rubbed her eyes. "If Lorelai wasn't my daughter, I would have felt sorry for the parents who had to deal with her."

"What's not to like about Lorelai?" Esther asked.

Emily clenched her fists.

"I'm not asking that to shame you. Only to help figure out where to start when it comes to repairing your relationship with Lorelai. Isn't that what you want?"

"Fine," Emily said. "Her name?"

Emily barrelled on at the confused look on Esther's face. "I didn't name her. My mother-in-law in her infinite wisdom decided to name Lorelai after herself. Almost all of the frustrations of my marriage were the result of that woman. By the time the drugs had worn off, Richard and his mother had already signed the birth certificate." Emily twisted her lips in anger. "She told me I could name the next one if I felt like it."

"What else?"

"Her lip," Emily replied, bouncing out of her seat, "She has to comment on every little thing, no matter the situation. She's incredibly pig-headed, as well. Even if her way is completely wrong if it's not done her way it might as well be a crime against nature."

Esther's eyes followed Emily as she walked circles around the couch. "She never tells me anything. It's like pulling blood from a stone with that girl. If I want to know anything about her life, I have to ask everyone but her. Frankly, I know more about my driver than I know about Lorelai."

Crossing her legs, Esther shrugged. "I can't see how any of those things could make you dislike Lorelai."

"You can't be serious. You see the way she talks to me, the way she behaves!"

"I see the way she behaves in this office. All those things you hate about her are things that I find incredible about her." She held up her hand to stop Emily's protests. "I understand that Lorelai's birth was traumatizing and nothing can change that but, nothing is stopping from learning to like your daughter. You say she runs off at the mouth but maybe it means she's smart and can keep up with a conversation. What you call pig-headed, you can think of tenacious. Lorelai wouldn't be the owner of her own business without sticking to her guns. You can admire that, Emily."

"Well," Emily said as she put her hands on her hips, "Isn't that nice, doctor. You spend five minutes with the great Lorelai Gilmore and you've taken her side. It's no surprise that I'm the big bad wolf, yet again."

"That's not what I'm doing, Emily."

"Oh please, that's exactly what you're doing. I'm the problem. Emily Gilmore is always the problem."

"Then stop making yourself the problem Emily," Esther said with a frown. "If you want to take this conversation as me choosing sides, then fine. But Lorelai has been trying for a long time to connect with you. Why can't you give her the same courtesy?"

* * *

Courtesy.

The word was comical. It was not something Emily had ever received, no matter how much she wanted it. Had Emily Gilmore begged for courtesy in her darkest moments? No. She moved on and up. There was nowhere to go but. She would have to stop seeing Esther now that she was firmly in camp Lorelai. Emily wondered what Lorelai had done to try to connect with her. She couldn't recall one thing off the top of her head. Anything that she did recall, she wouldn't consider it a courtesy.

Perched on the settee in her living room, Emily flipped through a magazine and waited for dinner to be served. A high pitched jangled startled the magazine out of her hands and took about ten years off of her life.

"What the hell is that?"

"You're phone, ma'am," a maid said, materializing out of nowhere with the phone in hand.

"Hello?" Emily croaked.

"Grandma," Rory said, "Are you okay? You sound weird."

Emily cleared her throat. "Oh, I'm fine Rory. I was reading a vulgar novel that one of the ladies at the DAR recommended. It upset me. Nothing to worry about. How are you? It feels like I haven't heard from you in decades."

"I'm great. I'm better than great, actually. I have some big news to tell you."

"You're engaged?"

"What? No."

"Don't tell me you're pregnant."

"Gross, no!

"Well, I'm at a loss. What could be bigger than that?"

"I got a new job. I'm an editor at a pharmaceutical advertising agency."

Emily rolled her eyes. That was the big news that got her blood pressure up? A job? A nudged at her teeth before Emily pressed her lips shut.

Courtesy.

Wasn't that what Rory was doing to her? Having the courtesy to tell her about something that made her happy? Emily wasn't a child and was raised well. If she received courtesy, she could give it.

"That's wonderful Rory. My, you sound excited! When do you start?"

"Already did. It's a great job, grandma. I have crazy good benefits and get this, they a 24/7 snack cabinet for all the employees."

"So I assume you'll be rolling into Stars Hollow come the holidays?" Emily replied.

There had been no reason for Emily to say that. They had been having a nice conversation and she was going to ruin it with her stupid mouth. Instead, Rory laughed.

"No kidding! I like it there so much that I've decided to stop looking for another writing job."

"No more writing? But Rory, being a journalist was your dream."

"I was but, I couldn't keep up. Even if I hadn't burned my bridges at the Wall Street Journal, the work would've driven me crazy in no time."

"This is so sudden. What did your mother say about this?"

"Don't know. You're the first person I've told. Besides my therapist."

All three generations of Gilmores being in therapy wasn't the most shocking part of their conversation in Emily's eyes. Rory had told her something before she had told Lorelai. Emily almost called her maids so she could tell them to be on the lookout for any airborne swine.

"I'm touched that I'm the first person to know about your career change."

"You deserve it." Rory took a breath, "I never apologized for those horrible things I said to you. It was so fucked up."

"Language, Rory," Emily couldn't help but chide.

Rory giggled. "Sorry. But I'm serious. I never should've said something like that to you. Grandpa would've have done anything to stay with you. He loved you so much."

"He loved you just as much Rory," Emily replied, her eyes wet with tears.

"Plus, you were right about the whole thing. I was acting like a brat. I shouldn't have made you worry about me like that. You should be hiring a bunch of topless men to carry you down the stairs of your beach cabana."

"Honestly Rory, I will always worry about you. That's a grandmother's job. It what it means to be a Gilmore. Let me transfer you the money Trix left you so we can settle this nasty business, once and for all."

"You don't have to do that, my salary is–"

"Don't argue with me about this. It's your money and I had no right to keep it from you in the first place. Have you changed banks?"

"No."

"Good, I'll have it wired over in the morning when I can get ahold of my accountant. Now! How are things in New York? Seeing anyone new?"

"Nope. Nobody new."


	30. Chapter 30

Emily had been accepting congratulations on the successful wine tasting and fundraising event all night. It wasn't the best party she'd thrown in her DAR career, but it certainly wasn't the worst.

The venue hadn't been her choice but she had been outvoted. Emily had chosen the decorations, the wine list, and the food, but this...place had been chosen by some of the younger DAR members. Emily had nothing against modern dining but she didn't find making conversation under strobe lights to be very relaxing.

Sitting at the bar with a glass at her elbow that was more tonic than gin, Emily wondered when restaurants stopped using plates. These people expected her guests to eat out of artistic roof shingles. It was outrageous. A waiter placed an appetizer of prosciutto-wrapped asparagus, drizzled with balsamic vinegar in front of her on what looked like a wooden plank.

"Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous," she muttered, lifting a piece to her mouth.

"You think this is ridiculous? I went to a restaurant in San Diego and they served me room temperature sushi on a shovelhead."

Emily turned to the well-dressed man sitting next to her. "That sounds illegal."

"Not according to the state of California. That and the food poisoning it gave me really brought down their score."

"Score? Are you a health inspector?"

"Shit, sorry. I wasn't raised in the woods, I promise." The man held out his hand, "Amato Vincenzo, professional food critic. Feel free to call me Matt."

Emily returned the handshake. "Emily Gilmore. Regular food critic."

Matt laughed, showing off the attractive wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. "That's a good one." Matt waved a hand in the general area of the restaurant. "Do you come to these types of things often?"

"Of course. I'm one of the–"

Emily fumbled for a word to replace the 'senior' that rested on the tip of her tongue.

"–Heads of the DAR. I planned this event myself. Unfortunately, our organization is a democracy and I was forced to have the meals I planned served on leftover plywood."

"The DAR?" Matt snapped his fingers with recognition. "That's what Darby's been pulling her hair out about. She's been dying to get into your club since she turned the summer house up here into her new home base."

A thirty-something blonde socialite with a gnat sized attention span popped into Emily's head. Not a shocking development. What else kind of woman would a man like Matt be married to?

"Really," Emily replied as she turned back to her appetizer.

"My father's been telling me she's been talking his ear off about the hoops you ladies are making her jump through for that fancy badge of yours."

"It is not a badge, Amato. It's a 24-carat broach of the DAR crest. And it's lovely that your wife and your father are so close."

"Wife?" Matt dissolved into laughter. "No, Darby's not my kind of woman. She's my step-mother."

"That can't possibly be right. You're at least twenty years older than the girl."

"Twenty-two years, actually."

Emily grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the corner of her lips to make sure her mouth wasn't hanging open. She had heard about things like this on the television and read about it in those supermarket tabloids, but things like that didn't happen in real life. Not in Connecticut.

"Well, I'm sure Darby and your father have many things in common."

"Thank you for the polite lie, Emily. You and I both know that the only two things my 82-year-old father and Darby have in common are sitting on her chest."

The sound that came out of Emily's mouth was a cross between a rubber duck and a deflating tire and was incredibly unladylike. She tried to stifle her laughter with her napkin but Matt joined in, starting her up again.

"Mrs. Gilmore, Matty!" Darby Vincenzo walked over to the still chuckling pair, her incredible assets not at all hindered by the high necked cocktail dress she wore.

Matt coughed into his fist and gave Emily a wink. " Evening Darby. Thanks for letting me tag along."

"Of course! I love spending time with one of my favorite guys." Darby replied. "I see you've met DAR extraordinaire, Emily Gilmore."

"Yes, I have. We were just getting to know each other."

"That's wonderful! Mrs. Gilmore, what do you think of Cabana Morena? I know I'm not supposed to suggest venues since I'm not a full member yet, but aren't you glad I let Deedee know about this place? I saw the way they plated their food on Yelp and knew this place would be perfect for the fundraiser."

"It's like nothing I've never experienced before, Darby," Emily said.

Matt snorted into his glass of wine.

Darby smiled and squeezed Matt's shoulders. "I'm so glad you like it. I'm gonna run, I left Marcie in the middle of a convo to chat with you two."

"Take your time," Matt called at her back. He looked at Emily and raised an eyebrow "Like nothing I've ever experienced before," he parroted. "I've never heard 'fuck off' said like that before. What language were you speaking?"

"Don't you start again," Emily said with a smile. "To think that Darby is married to a man my age. I almost can't believe it."

"You can't be anywhere close to my father's age. You're far too beautiful." Matt said.

Emily brushed a piece of perfectly coiffed hair behind her ears. "Please. I look every bit of my age. Don't think that flattering me will get your step-mother any closer to a DAR membership."

Matt clutched his chest as if he were having a stroke. "You think I would try to seduce you into getting Darby into your fancy club? You wound me."

Rolling her eyes, Emily hid another smile behind her glass. "Young people are so dramatic."

"It's been a long time since I've been young. My son changed my name in his phone to 'Boomer'." Matt replied.

He pulled out his phone and presented Emily with a family photo. "My son, Brighton and my daughter Briony. Second-year at USC."

Emily squinted down at the picture of the two fresh-faced teens, Matt, and a statuesque brunette.

"You and your wife must be so proud."

"Ex-wife, but we're glad that the one who ate paint chips as a toddler ended up going to college. What about you? Any kids?"

"Just one, a daughter," Emily said with a frown, "But I have two grandchildren, Lorelai and James." She pulled out her own phone and showed Matt Rory and James posing in matching sweaters.

"Grandchildren? If I saw you in person, I wouldn't believe it."

"What did I just say about flattery?"

Matt grinned, "That it won't get Darby any closer to that badge."

"Broach."

"That's what I said. So calling you beautiful won't get my step-mother into your club. Will it get me a date with you?" Matt said, leaning in close.

Emily had to be hallucinating. Matt, old enough to be her son was trying to ask her out on a date? In her conflicted silence, Matt glanced down at the glass that she was holding onto for dear life.

"Oh, shit. You're married. I'm sorry." Matt said removing himself from her personal space.

"Widowed, actually," Emily replied, twisting the wedding band around her finger.

"I'm sorry for your loss," replied Matt. He took a long gulp of his wine. "I'm the guy that I warn my daughter about. I apologize. Here, let me pay for your drink," he said, fumbling with his wallet.

"There's no need for that–"

"Please let me. I forced myself on you for the past hour when you're obviously grieving–"

"Obviously what?"

"You were sitting here all alone, drinking since that party started. I mean, you're still wearing your wedding ring, too and you look exhausted–"

Emily held up her hand to stop his blubbering. "Thank you for the unsettling confession that you've been staring at me all night like some sort of Jack the Ripper fanatic. It's lovely to know that all the effort I put into myself tonight was completely useless since I look so very exhausted and so very sad. Keep your money and get the hell away from me."

She turned away and gave Amato her back until she was sure he had gotten up and walked away. When she turned back around, he was gone, a $100 bill and a business card on the bar top. Emily brushed the business card to the floor and stuffed the money into the bartender's tip jar.

She didn't need anything from that man.


	31. Chapter 31

"Heard from your mom lately?" Luke asked.

Lorelai looked up from where she was scraping leftover crumbs into the garbage. "No," she said, handing him the plate. Luke placed it next to the others in the dishwasher and furrowed his brow.

"Nothing at all? Not a text? Carrier Pigeon?"

"Nope. Other than that lovely letter she sent us to cancel dinner till the end of time, we've been in the clear."

Luke hummed and frowned harder. Lorelai paused in her search for after dessert, dessert and stared at him.

"What's with the face?" she asked.

"What face?"

"Your 'I have an opinion Lorelai won't like so I won't tell her', face."

"For Christ's sake, how many faces do I have?"

"Plenty. My current favorite is the 'My son is wondering about the female form and I can't handle it' face. It's a little newer, but it's holding its own."

Luke leaned against the counter. "Your mom hasn't talked to you at all? Seriously? You haven't run into her at therapy?"

"Seriously, Luke, we're home free over here. Stop looking the gift horse in its gross mouth," Lorelai said, walking into his arms.

Luke wrapped his arms around her and Lorelai squeezed back. Mmm. Cozy.

"She's so old," Luke muttered into her hair.

"Shh."

"She's all alone in that big house, you know."

" _Shhh._ "

"What if something happens–ow! Get off my ass!" Luke said, twisting away from her pinching fingers.

"Ugh, stop it, I eat in here," James said. He glared at them as he snatched a bottle of water out of the fridge and went back to his room.

Lorelai straightened up and put her hands on her hips, "Look what you did, Luke. You've traumatized my child. We're gonna have to go to mommy-and-me therapy."

"You're the one who can't keep her hands to herself," Luke replied, rubbing his sore cheek. "I just think–"

"Fine, I got the message. I will swing by the homestead and see if mother dear is still kicking."

"Thank you," Luke replied. "That's all I'm asking. A quick face-to-face to make sure she's not a corpse."

"Here's to hoping."

"Lorelai!"

–––––––––––––––

Lorelai was trying to think of a good enough excuse to not see her mother as she hid in the kitchen with Sookie. It had to be simple, but clever enough that Luke couldn't see through her lie. Lorelai knew her mother was alive and well. In the real world, evil didn't die that easy.

"Do you think the Spring menu is missing anything?" Sookie asked, looking down at the steaming plates on the kitchen island.

"Spring? Spring who? We're a few weeks away from April and I had to ice pick my door handles like they owed me money."

"C'mon now. You've lived in Connecticut your whole life, you should be used to it by now. Try this," she said holding up a spoon to Lorelai's mouth.

"Ooh, that's nice. Is that salmon?"

"It's chicken," Sookie replied. She sighed. "Guess it's time to start over."

"Hey don't do that. What do I know about food? My tastebuds have been ravaged by years of lava hot black coffee. Don't even listen to me."

"If you say so," Sookie picked up the plates. "Have you–hurk!"

Sookie's sentence ended in choked of squawk as she collided with the bar cart parked at the end of the kitchen island. Chicken, plates, and sauce went flying as far as the eye could see, while Sookie smacked onto the floor. Sookie sat up and patted herself down as a few nearby busboys pulled her back to her feet.

"Geez, you think those guys would be used to this by now," Sookie said.

Lorelai pulled a strip of chicken skin off of Sookie chef's coat. "Yeah, darn those crazy kids running over to see if you're alive. Buncha nutcases."

"Speaking of kids, Martha's first Sadie Hawkins dance is coming up. She's being so adorable pretending that she's not going with that little marshmallow, Erin Bakerson. Oh gosh. I remember my first Sadie Hawkins. My date drank so many wine coolers that I had to call his parents to drive me home. Ah, youth." Sookie brushed some lettuce off her apron. "Did they do Sadie Hawkins dances at your fancy pants high school?"

"Before I had Rory, there were a few but they weren't really my thing."

Weren't my thing.

More like, the odds of someone saying yes to her were lower than the center of the Earth. Even Chris was too afraid of his father's reaction to take her to their Sadie Hawkins dance. By sophomore year, Lorelai had gotten herself enough a reputation that no teenage boy wanted anything to do with her beside some necking behind the sports shed. Lorelai knew her place and avoided all and any dances.

Throughout the day, if Lorelai thought of any great excuses to skip out on seeing her mother, she thought of Luke's crushed face when he eventually found out she had lied to him. Yet again, her mother was inserting strife into her Hallmark worthy marriage from the comfort of her mausoleum. The adult thing to do would be to tell Luke that she didn't go and she wasn't going to and that was that. But since Lorelai barely considered herself an adult and the idea of Luke 'disappointed in you' face, made her stomach hurt, she tossed butt in the car and drove home to mommy.

Oy, the things she did to keep that man happy.

She pulled up to the sidewalk in front of her mother's home an hour later. She saw a maintenance man, shoveling the sidewalk. She rolled down her window and waved at him.

"Hola!" she greeted, "Is in?"

The maintenance man gave her a blank stare before answering in completely unaccented English. "Yes." He took his bucket of salt and his snow shovel and walked to the back of the house.

Yikes.

Lorelai rolled her window back up. She had technically done what Luke had asked. She was sure that her mother wasn't a corpse being feasted upon by the maids. She could go and leave her mother to gossip about some poor soul who didn't match her pantyhose to her earrings. She could leave. Nothing was stopping her. She could put the jeep in drive and go back to the Inn with a flick of her wrist. Lorelai looked at her childhood home and rolled her eyes. She turned the car off.

Hopefully, Lorelai was a good looking dog like a Golden Retriever.

She walked up the freshly shoveled drive and rang the bell. For a moment, Lorelai considered playing ding-dong ditch but the maid behind the door was too fast.

"Please, come in Mrs. Danes," said the maid before shutting the door. "Would you like me to take your coat?"

"No thanks, this is just a welfare check."

The maid shot her a confused look before going up the stairs. A few minutes later, Emily walked down.

"Lorelai, how nice of you to stop by."

Lorelai furrowed her brows. Her mother sounded pleasant. Almost as if she wasn't talking down to her at all. She fought not to look around and see if Rodman Serling was lurking about to give a nice monologue about tonight's episode.

"Yeah, Luke asked me to come by and make sure the buzzards hadn't got to you."

"That's nice."

They stared at each other in silence. Emily flicked a piece of imaginary lint off of her shoulder. "Is that all? I don't want to keep you. I know that anything having to do with the Inn is far more important than staring at me."

"That's it?" Lorelai asked.

"What's it?"

"Itchy, Scratchy–beat it," Lorelai said, pointing to the pair of maids lingering near the living entryway. "I need to have a private conversation with your dictator."

The maids scurried away.

"Really, Lorelai all the lip you give me about not knowing their names and you treat them like that. What kind of names are those?"

"Not the point. Why are you acting like this? What's up?" Lorelai said, putting her hands on her hips.

"Acting like what?"

"Like you're happy to see more, for one. You're never happy to see me and even if you are happy to see me, you say something that I've done and or doing is wrong. What's the deal?"

"I was being nice, Lorelai," Emily replied, her tone a touch colder.

"You? Nice? Are you even programmed for that?"

"Why are you being so difficult? Here I am trying to have a conversation with you that doesn't result in you dissolving into hysterics and you refuse to act like an adult and let it happen!"

"I'm not being difficult, I'm being realistic. You're not nice to me. That's not how this works."

"Why? Why can't I be nice to you? Is it a crime?"

"Where's all this coming from? Mind control? Blackmail?"

"Neither," Emily said. She walked down the stairs and stood in front of Lorelai. "Esther told me that it was only fair to try and make an effort in our relationship, with all that you do."

"And by making an effort she meant get replaced by a pod person?"

"No, she meant being nice. We're both adults, Lorelai we can have a simple conversation. People have done it for millennia."

"Yeah, but we're not people. We're Gilmores. Big diff."

Emily rolled her eyes, "You'd rather we continue sniping at each other until the day you toss me in the gutter rather than have a quiet conversation with me? Listen to yourself, for goodness sake."

"Old dog, new trick, ever heard of it?"

"Can't you just let me learn to like you?" Emily asked, pinching her nose bridge between her fingers.

Lorelai's breath caught. "What?"

"Like you," Emily repeated, crossing her arms, "Isn't that what you wanted? For me to like you? I'm trying. Let me try."

"Okay," Lorelai said, swallowing around the lump in her throat. "Thanks for the talk."

"Likewise."

Lorelai didn't run to her car. She walked very, very quickly. Sitting at the red light on the way back to Stars Hollow, it finally hit her. Her mother wanted to like her.

What the fuck?


	32. Chapter 32

"Hey," Luke said when Lorelai walked into the diner that night. "How's your mom?"

"Good," Lorelai replied. She ruffled James' hair and sat down at the counter. Luke slid a cup of coffee in front of her. "You know, something weird happened when I was talking to my mom," she said, swirling the coffee around.

Luke made an inquisitive noise but kept wiping down the tables in the diner.

"Well-"

Lorelai's answer was cut off by the tinkle of the diner door opening and Babette barreling through. "Lorelai, doll, there you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

Lorelai turned around and practically caught Babette in her arms, "Whoa, Babs, where's the fire?"

"Oh Lorelai, I came as soon as Mory told me! It's about Zsa-Zsa."

"The cat?" Luke cut in, "Did you kill it?"

Babette gasped, "How could you think that Luke?! I love cats more than all the 1967 Jazz records in my attic combined."

"I'm just saying. This is a lot of hoopla for a cat that's not a corpse," Luke replied, tossing a rag over his shoulder.

"Back to the kitchen with you, negative Nancy," Lorelai said as she shooed him away. "Now Babette. What is wrong with the cat Rory forced on me which I then forced on you?"

"Did it get hit by a car?" James ran up to them, mischief in his eyes. "Did it explode?"

Lorelai tugged on his ear "Go help your dad scrape out the mouse traps, you little sadist."

James grumbled and rubbed his ear, but followed Luke into the kitchen.

Babette huffed, "His little butt used to be so cute and squishy. Now, look at him."

"Yep, those were the days. Babette focus. What's wrong with the cat?"

Babette bit her fist, "Zsa-Zsa's pregnant!"

––––––––––––

Lorelai checked James' fear in the rearview mirror where it was getting progressively more horrified the more he read about cat conception and pregnancy on his phone.

"You okay back there, buddy?"

"Mom. They have barbed penises."

"I think the plural of penis is peni."

James scrunched up his face, "No way, that sounds stupid."

Lorelai shrugged, "Hey, I don't want you getting caught out there slipping."

"You have to stop. Never say that again," James ordered.

Pulling into the driveway with a grin, Lorelai undid her seatbelt. "Honey do we need to do a vibe check? Should we dab together?"

"Stop it!" James said. He dive-bombed out the car and ran to the house.

Lorelai smiled. Motherhood was the gift that kept on giving. Speaking of mothers, Emily's words did the dougie in her head.

'Let me learn to like you'. Lorelai shook her head and walked into the house. Therapy was going to be fun. There was no telling the different ways she was going to try and suppress these new feelings!

As she was stuffing her coat in the closet she saw the back of James' at the top of the couch. "Did dad check your homework yet?" she asked.

When James didn't answer she walked over, "Did you hear me?" she asked, only to have James shush her.

Her 8-year-old son was apparently in the middle of a very important phone call on a school night. "Who are you talking to?"

James didn't answer her. "Rory!" he said into the phone, "Guess what? Your cat got knocked up!"

Outraged screeching could be heard even from where Lorelai was standing. She snatched the phone from James. "I should've put you up for adoption after you gave Paul Anka that haircut when you were six. Scram, you little narc!"

James cackled and ran to his room. James needed to spend more time with Luke, he was taking after her a tad too much.

"Rory, hi," Lorelai said, "It's me, your mother who has never done anything wrong in her life. Please remember that before saying any words to me."

"How did Zsa-Zsa get pregnant? She's an indoor cat! How could you let this happen?"

"Like I said. I'm your mother and therefore by law you are not allowed to get mad at me. But...I loaned Zsa-Zsa to Babette."

"You gave my cat away?"

"No, I let Babette babysit on a long-term basis. It's shared custody, truly."

"Mom!"

"Don't blame me! That fluffy little freeloader let a mouse run right passed her. She wasn't earning her keep."

"This news took ten years off of my life, mom. Is her baby daddy a nice pure breed? Like one of Babette's boys?"

Lorelai cringed. "Sorry, kid. Babette said it was 3 legged tom that lives in the back of the house."

"Hopefully her kids come out with all four legs," Rory said with a sigh.

"We can all dream a little dream. Enough about being a grandmother, what's up with you? We haven't talked in like, ten years."

"We text all the time."

"It's not the same without hearing your angelic voice. Tell me what's happening in the Big Apple."

"I got a new job."

Lorelai gasped, "Amazing. What wonderful paper has the impeccable Rory Gilmore on their roster?"

"Boone, Chenowitz, and Black Health."

"Is that a digital thing?"

"Not a digital thing. It's not a paper. It's an ad agency that specializes in pharmaceutical drugs."

Hearing the explanation, a grin split Lorelai's face open, "So you're telling me that you're selling drugs?"

Right at that moment, Luke walked in the door. He frowned, "What did you say?"

"Rory's selling drugs!"

"What?"

"Cool your beans, husband dear. She's working at an ad agency that sells meds."

"Christ, I need an aspirin." He replied, rubbing his chest and walking into the kitchen.

"Stop scaring Luke like that. He's gonna drop dead one of these days."

"And then I'll get all the insurance money," Lorelai replied with an evil laugh. "So you write the ads at this place?"

"I'm an editor."

"Did they not have writing positions open or something?"

"They did and they do, I just won't be applying to them."

"Is the pay crap or something?"

"No. I've decided that journalism isn't the right path for me. I'm an editor now."

"Journalism not right for you? But Rory, that's your dream."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me," Rory replied, "Mom, it wasn't making me happy. I like my new job. I like editing at this place and I make good money, plus they have a 24/7 snack cabinet. Twinkies and pop tarts as far as the eye can see."

Lorelai twisted her lips and began to process this new information.

"Mom? Say something."

"I don't know what to say. I've never known you as anything other than my little Diane Sawyer."

"I can get some shoulder pads and a blonde bob if it makes you feel better."

"Ew no. Shoulder pads can stay in the fiery hell pit that was the 80s where they belong. Look, if you're sure about this new career change thing, I'm all in. As long as you're happy. And not poor."

"I'm definitely happy and I'm definitely not poor. Listen I gotta go. Keep me updated on Zsa-Zsa?"

"Will do. Love ya."

"Love you too, bye."

Lorelai lowered the phone from her face. She was getting a lot of life changes today.

Later that night, Lorelai was sitting on the toilet, moisturizing her feet, when Luke stood in the doorway of the bathroom. "Didn't you say something weird happened with your mom today?"

"Yeah. She was being nice to me."

"That's the weird part? Emily being nice?"

"The fact that you don't find it weird proves how little you know about Emily Gilmore. She wasn't even that nice to my dad and she liked him."

"You don't think you're overreacting?"

"No, I do not, because listen to what she said to me during this whole personality switcheroo: Let me learn to like you. Can you believe that?"

"I still don't see the problem."

Lorelai stood and put her foot cream back into the cabinet. "The problem is that she's not going to keep this up. She's going to get sick of me and be back to the way she was before. I can't play along until that happens. I'd be up for a fricken Oscar if I could."

"You're not going to try because you think it's not going to work?" Luke crossed his arms. "C'mon Lorelai, that's not fair."

"Don't talk to me about my mom and fair," Lorelai said with a roll of her eyes.

"Why don't you give her a chance?"

Lorelai walked into the bedroom and angrily tucked herself into bed. "No."

"Lorela–"

"I said no. Now shut up and get in bed. I can't sleep without your smell."

* * *

Despite her protests, Lorelai still accepted an invitation to have lunch with her mother two days later. Emily had been surprisingly considerate in choosing a restaurant that was equidistant from the Inn and the Gilmore mansion. Lorelai was running late to the lunch. Not purposely on purpose but, she may have volunteered to deal with a difficult couple ten minutes before she was supposed to leave and meet with her mom. When the host walked Lorelai over to her mother, she expected a scathing lecture about tardiness. Instead, her mother gave her a small wave.

"I ordered you a salad," Emily said pointing to the plate on Lorelai's side of the table. "You still like blue cheese and bacon dressing?"

"Yeah." Lorelai didn't wait for her chair to be pulled out for her. She dragged it out herself and plopped down. "Sorry, I'm late." She said, leaning over the table to grab Emily's glass of water. Lorelai took a healthy chug and set it back down.

Emily's lips puckered. "Excuse me, waiter? Please bring a new glass of water and refill my daughter's glass as well."

Lorelai let the waiter take their glasses before propping her elbows up on the table. "Why can't we share a glass? I don't have cooties, I swear."

Emily sighed and shook her head. "Was there an emergency at work? Or was the traffic as awful for you as it was for me?"

Lorelai dug into her salad with a small smile. Her mom was actually giving the whole "be nice" thing a go even though she looked like she had sucked on a lemon when Lorelai drank her water.

"Traffic was fine. I had to deal with a pair of six thousand-year-old retirees. They call every hour on the hour and said that with the nightly rate they pay one of our guys should follow them everywhere just in case they need something."

"Goodness, how difficult."

"You're telling me. I run an Inn, not an old folk's home." Lorelai replied, picking the bacon bits out of her salad.

"How is Michel?" Emily asked.

"Fine. He and his posher than posh hubby are off on a two-week vacation in the cayman islands."

"You and Luke should take a trip. You two haven't traveled since your Swedish honeymoon."

"Nah, we're married to the job." Lorelai put down her fork and looked around, "Ugh, I need some real food. Where'd that waiter go?"

"He's just walked away–" Emily began before being cut off by Lorelai's snapping fingers.

Lorelai snapped at the waiter who frowned and walked over. "Sounds like you're ready to order," he said.

"Yes, I am. What would you recommend?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Lorelai saw her mother massage her temples and shake her head.

"The grilled chicken wrap and sweet potato fries are one of our best sellers if you're vegetarian–"

"Vegetarian? Fat chance," Lorelai said, handing the waiter her menu, "I'll take that."

Emily handed the waiter her menu too. "I'll have the salmon and kale salad. Thank you."

"Coming right up," he replied walking a tad bit too fast from the table in Lorelai's opinion.

At Emily's disgruntled face, Lorelai smiled. "You have to get snippy with them sometimes or they won't pay attention. I like attention."

"I'm sure you do, Lorelai."

Emily took a dainty sip of her water, while Lorelai dug around her salad for any leftover bacon. "I assume Rory's told you the good news?" she asked.

"What?" Lorelai replied.

"The news about her career change."

"I know what the news is, how did you know about it?"

"Well, Rory told me of course. I think it was last week or the week before that, she called me and let me know. I suppose she was so excited she couldn't wait to tell me."

"She only told me a couple of days ago."

"It's not a competition Lorelai. She told you eventually. Isn't it nice to see Rory taking charge of her career?"

"I guess. I mean–can we 3 point turn back to the fact that Rory told you already? Why were you and Rory talking about incredibly life-changing events on the phone? When did that start happening?"

"We were talking. Are we not allowed to do that without your permission? Are you Rory's keeper?" Emily asked, a familiar meanness returning to her tone.

Lorelai threw her fork down. "Rory is allowed to talk to whoever she wants to, she's an adult. I'm just a little curious about why she would tell you something like that before telling me."

"What does it matter, Lorelai? Can't we both be happy for Rory's future?"

The waiter returned and removed their appetizer plates. He set Emily's salad down in front of her. As he went to put Lorelai's plate down, she stopped him.

"I don't want that," she said waving him away.

"Isn't that what you ordered?" Emily asked. She looked at the waiter, "Isn't that what she ordered?"

"Yes, is there a problem?" the waiter asked.

"There is a problem, I don't want this anymore. Take it back to the kitchen, toss it, burn it, I don't care."

The waiter picked up the plate and backed away into the kitchens.

"Lorelai, what has gotten into you?"

"Why would Rory tell you before she told me? I'm her mom."

"This possessiveness you have over Rory is an embarrassment. She is 32 years old, she can talk to whomever she pleases whenever she pleases and if she wants to begin treating you the way you've been treating me for the last 50 years than she very well can."

Lorelai stood up and shoved her coat on. "Rory would never treat me like I treat you."

"Well. I suppose you and her were raised differently." Emily replied. She picked up her knife and fork and started to eat her salad. "It was nice seeing you, Lorelai."


	33. Chapter 33

Rory was going to end up as one of those people who ruined their eyes staring at screens all day. The text on her computer jumped around so much that Rory began wondering what type of glasses suited her face best. She had been up since 6 AM. The entire team was running on fumes, her included. Rory was so tired that her fingers were buzzing.

Scratch that, it was only her phone.

Squeezing her eyes shut to focus her eyes, Rory answered.

"I managed to get a reservation at a restaurant with so many Michelin stars that Gordon Ramsey cries himself to sleep about it. Dress code is pretty lax so I can wing by in 10 and pick you up?"

"Logan?"

"The one and only."

Rory sighed. "I can't. They still need me here for," Rory checked the clock, "2 more hours."

"Christ, Rory these people have you working like any of that shit matters. Nobody can cover for you?"

"No, they can't," Rory said. She rubbed her eyes until she saw spots.

"Rory, c'mon. I haven't seen you in days. You're gone when I wake up and you're at work when I come back. I'm sick of it."

Logan's voice was getting very irritating.

"Look, I have to go," Rory said.

"Rory–"

She ended the call before Logan could say anything else. She slumped over and let her head hit her desk with a thump. Rory still hadn't told Logan that she was going to therapy or that she wasn't leaving her job. After his tipsy rant about the world of mental health care, Rory was even more reluctant to say anything at all. She was going to, of course. She went to therapy, she knew what to do. What she didn't know is how to find the right time to tell Logan. It would probably involve an in-depth conversation about her future, which was something she didn't want to have with Logan because she didn't know if she wanted him to be part of her future.

Well, she _did_ want him but the math wasn't adding up.

 _'Where exactly are you, Logan and Odette going Rory?'_

Rory was stubbornly holding on to the idea that Logan and Odette were a phase. A phase Logan was going to outgrow the same way he was he going to outgrow the hold his father had on his life. Talking to Deva made her realize something, though. She and Logan never discussed how they would become Logan and Rory. After Logan had told her about his...marriage, Rory had stopped thinking about it. After the Logan reassured her that the maids at his villa were full of crap, Rory had stopped thinking about it. Rory had decided to sit and wait for Logan to divorce Odette and be with her even though the odds of that happening were slim.

Slim chances aside, what if Logan did it? If Logan divorced Odette he would be fine. Mitchum would be furious but that didn't matter. Logan was talented, he could find a job anywhere. Even if he didn't, he had money to spare. Rory knew that she Logan and Odette weren't going anywhere but she didn't want to give up when Rory and Logan didn't even get a chance to start.

Rory checked the time on her phone. She jerked straight up. She had spent over half an hour with her head down thinking about what to do with her and Logan.

* * *

Logan wasn't at the apartment when she got home. Grabbing a glass of water in the kitchen she noticed two previously full bottles of wine sat in the sink. She sighed and tossed them into the recycling bin. She was so tired that her eyes were itching. On the train home, she had fallen asleep on and understanding schoolgirl and woke up to a gaggle of 14-year-old girls giggling at her. Rory wanted to sleep for the next forty years or until she was dead. Whichever came first. Trying not to be a flaming trash heap of a woman, Rory swished her mouth with a little Listerine and wiped her makeup off with wet tissue. She'd wash her face when she woke up. She charged her phone and dropped it on the bedside table and let the weight of her exhaustion depress her body into the mattress. She would've passed out in a second if her phone didn't start vibrating again.

Rory groaned and shoved her head under her pillow. Her voicemail would get it. When her phone stopped buzzing, Rory relaxed and waited for sleep to take her. As the edge of the waking world began to dissolve, her phone buzzed again. Rory squeezed her eyes as tightly as possible and again waited for the buzzing to stop. The phone gods listened to her because the buzzing soon came to an end. Rory sat up and stared at her quiet phone. If it vibrated again while she was sitting up, she would answer it. Moments passed and the phone stayed still. Thinking the worst was over, Rory snuggled into bed and closed her eyes only for them to snap back open at the sound of her phone.

Moaning in frustration, Rory rolled over and finally answered. "Hello?" she croaked.

"You sound happy to hear my voice," said Lorelai.

"Mom?" Rory replied, sitting up, "Was that you calling all three times?"

"You bet."

"Is something wrong?"

"Nope."

"Then can we rain check this conversation? I'm so tired I can't even see. I just got home."

"Out on the town? I learn new things about you every day, huh?"

"What? Things at work are busy so I start early and end late. Way late. Is this an emergency or something?"

"There's no emergency! But if there was an emergency, I would tell you first cause that's our deal, Rory. That's our thing."

Despite being so tired she was damn near hallucinating, Rory could still hear the brimming argument in her mother's voice.

"I just asked you if something was wrong and you said no but now you're mad at me and I'm too tired to know why."

"Why would ever believe a woman when she says nothing after you ask her if anything's wrong?"

"I don't have the energy to play guessing games right now."

"How could you tell Emily that you were dunzo with journalism before you told me? That was big news, kid. You always tell me the big news first. That's the deal."

Rory was sure she was hallucinating now. There was no way her mother was yelling at her for telling her grandmother good news before her.

"You're not serious," Rory said.

"I'm completely serious. She didn't deserve to know before me."

Her mother's voice held a strange resemblance to nails on a chalkboard at the moment.

"It's not your job to decide who I can and can't talk to. She's my grandmother. She's your mother!"

"I know that! You know what she's like. She's a dream pooper! Telling her good news is asking to get pooped on. Are you crazy?"

"Are you? She had nothing but nice things to say. What is your problem?"

"Don't worry, that's going to last about 5 seconds, kid. The Emily Gilmore playbook doesn't allow for extended happiness for anyone other than herself."

"Stop calling me kid! I'm not a kid." Rory snapped.

"Fine. I hope you and grandma are very happy together." Lorelai said before hanging up the phone.

Rory stared down at her phone in disbelief. She couldn't understand what had just happened but was too tired to do anything about it. She turned her phone off and drew the covers over her head.

Rory woke up late in the day, streaks of the setting sun tickling her face. She felt hungover. She had a couple of hours until she had to head back to the office and was too ravenous to cook anything healthy and hearty from the organic, free-range groceries in the kitchen. Lean Cuisine to the rescue. She turned the microwave on, turned around and yelped.

"Jesus, calm down," Logan said, walking passed her and opening and closing the fridge.

"What are you doing here?"

"I live here, remember?"

Rory didn't respond, she focused on eating her lean cuisine breakfast/lunch. She leaned against the counter, grabbed a fork and pulled back the plastic film. She watched Logan putter around the kitchen and make himself a rum and coke. He turned to her.

"You're not even going to ask what I'm doing here in the middle of the day."

"I did ask," Rory replied, swallowing a bite of molten pasta and cheese.

"I've been trying to call you all day," he said.

"I turned my phone off, I needed the sleep."

Logan leaned over the sink and looked out the window. "One of the newer digital newspapers that my dad owns some stock in is looking for a writer. I could get you an interview. It's mostly American politics but you could probably work your way up to international in a few months. Maybe score a nice trip to Dubai."

Like a twitchy little hamster, Rory packed her cheeks with food to stall for an answer. "That's okay, you don't have to waste your time with an interview."

"Why the hell not? You think you belong in that cubicle proofreading Viagra ads?"

Rory lost her appetite. She tossed what was left of her meal into the garbage. "Can we talk about this some other time? I have to get ready for work."

Logan followed her to the bedroom. "Don't tell me you actually want to stay at that place." He said with a roll of his eyes, "Even if you became a writer over there, advertising isn't real writing. Don't throw away your talent over a fucking snack bar."

"First of all, it's a snack cabinet. Second all stop talking to me like I'm an idiot. I know I'm a good writer, I know I'm talented and what I do with those things is my decision. Leave it alone already."

"I can't believe it," Logan said with a shake of his head, "I thought you would be grateful."

"I don't need any jobs from you, okay?"

"You just took the one I gave you at that stupid agency."

Rory sighed and covered her face with her hands. "I don't want to do this anymore," she muttered.

"Do what? Listen to sense?"

"No. I don't want to be a journalist anymore."

Logan waved the sentence away, "Yes you do. Don't say shit like that to make me mad."

"Not everything is about you! Listen to me. I don't want that job. I'm staying at BCB."

"You're out of the job for five minutes and you want to give up? That's bullshit, Rory. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong with me. This is what I want! Why can't you let this go?"

"Because you're making a fucking mistake! I'm trying to help you."

"I don't need your help! I know what I'm doing!"

Logan put his hand on his hips and shook his head, "Where is this coming from? A few months ago you would do anything to work as a journalist and now you don't want shit to do with it."

Crossing her arms, Rory said, "My therapist told me–"

"Rory come on," Logan replied rolling his eyes, "A therapist? No wonder you're acting nuts."

"Logan–"

"No, listen to me." Logan grabbed her shoulders, "All those people do is screw you up even more so you keep coming back. It's a scam."

"Stop it, Logan," Rory replied, twisting away from him. "Therapy has been amazing. It's been good for me."

"Amazing? You never leave the house, you're at work at all hours of the day, and you never even fucking look at me when you are home and now you're fucking over your future because you're too scared to try. She's screwing you."

"She's screwing me because everything I'm doing is screwing you? Fuck you."

"She's changing you! The Rory I know wouldn't do this." Logan replied as he ran a hand through his hair.

"I have to get ready for work," Rory replied. She pushed passed Logan, stepped into the bathroom, and closed the door.

Logan didn't come after her.


	34. Chapter 34

Rory's crazy schedule became a blessing in disguise. The less time she spent around Logan, the happier she was. When she and Logan managed to cross paths, the stayed on opposite sides of the apartment, refusing to speak. Logan spent his time at home drinking angrily in front of the TV, if he chose to come home at all. The distance and coldness hurt and her mother doing the same didn't help.

Rory still didn't understand why the fight happened in the first place. No amount of texting would get her mom to pick up the phone and Rory didn't feel right bringing Luke or James into their crap. Work gave her a reprieve from Logan related nonsense and talking to Deva kept her in moderate spirits. Somehow, the least stressful part of her life was the job that sometimes kept her awake for two days straight. Funny how things work out.

Four days after her and Logan's argument, Rory was at her desk, toiling away when a coworker stopped by. "Looks like we're going to be slow for an hour or two so you can go out and grab dinner. And don't tell me those three twinkies you had count as dinner."

Rory smiled, "Fine, I'll get real food. Text me if anything urgent happens, okay?"

She grabbed her things and walked to the elevator. She wondered if the Indian buffet nearby had anything good at 10 at night. She was half a block away from her job when she heard someone calling her name. Rory turned around to see Mitchum Huntzberger strutting towards her. He clapped a hand on her shoulder.

"Rory Gilmore. How the hell are ya?"

"Mr. Huntzberger, hi. I'm great. I didn't know you worked in New York."

After all these years, Mitchum Huntzberger still made her nervous.

"I don't. I'm here on business. What brings you to Fashion Avenue?" he asked.

"Lunch break. Well, I guess it's more of a dinner break. I work at BCB Health now." Rory replied with a shrug.

"BCB? You're a copywriter now?"

"Editor."

"Huh. How'd you manage that?"

"Right place, right time," Rory replied with a shrug, "It was nice seeing you Mr. Huntzberger, I have to grab dinner before The Curry Hut closes for the night."

"Hold on a minute. Let me buy you dinner."

Rory shook her head, "That's okay, I'm fine with my food coming from a place with sneezeguards."

"C'mon, what's one dinner between old friends?"

Rory couldn't describe her relationship with Mitchum but "old friends" didn't come to mind. Still, Rory ended up at a 24/7 Greek diner a few blocks away, a club sandwich on her plate and her sorta ex-boyfriend's father sitting across from her. Mitchum was digging into his steak with gusto in between keeping her updated on the ever-expanding Huntzberger dynasty.

"Number four on the way. If I didn't know better I'd say that Honor is trying to repopulate the Earth."

"Wow, congrats."

"I didn't do a damn thing but pay for the wedding. Enough about me. You were crazy about writing in college. What made you go to the dark side?" he asked with a grin.

She shrugged, "I realized you were right."

Mitchum looked up from his steak. "About what?"

"I don't have what it takes to be a journalist. Never did I guess."

"Rory–"

"Nope, you were so right. It took me 10 years to figure it out but it wasn't where I belonged."

Mitchum set down his knife and fork, "And how'd you figure that out?"

"The old fashioned way. Therapy."

"No shame in that. I know a few people who could use a little one on one time with a professional. It's smart to realize you're out of your element and change it. Plus you landed on your feet better than guys who wanted to be in advertising right out of the gate."

"Thanks. That means a lot coming from you." Rory's phone buzzed and text from her coworker popped up on the screen. "Crap, I have to go back to work." She flagged down a waiter and asked for her food to be boxed up.

Mitchum wiped his mouth with a napkin, "Before you go, I wanted to give you this. I tried finding your address and Honor didn't have you on Facebook or whatever the hell you kids are on these days, but here." he said holding out a postcard.

"What is it?"

"An invitation to Logan and Odette's anniversary party. Three years, can you believe it? They're announcing the baby."

Rory swallowed. "Baby?"

"Crazy, right?" Mitchum said with a smile, "Never thought those two would get down to it."

It was like a field of cotton had sprouted in Rory's head. She spent most of her time back at the office, staring down at the invitation.

'Where are you Logan, and Odette going Rory?'

Pregnant. Up the duff. Knocked up. _Expecting_.

Her married boyfriend had gotten his wife of three years pregnant. Rory came home to her dark apartment. She kicked off her shoes and pulled out her phone.

"Hey Doyle," she said when he picked up, "I know its late, but I'm looking for a new place in Queens. Got anything?"

–––––––––––––

Rory sat in Deva's waiting room and played on her phone. The news of Logan's impending fatherhood had turned a switch in her. From the restart of her and Logan's relationship, Rory had been waiting for the day she and Logan could really _be_ together. She kept thinking about the different ways that it could happen. Maybe it would take a few years. Maybe Odette would leave Logan. Maybe Mitchum and Odette's dad would have a falling out. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But there were no more maybes. Logan was having a child with a woman who wasn't her. Logan had a wife who wasn't her. Logan and Odette weren't going to get a divorce. They weren't going to drift apart. They were going to have a child together and Rory was either going to watch Logan start a family with someone who wasn't her or make a change.

The worry and anxiety of her and Logan had come to an end. Rory accepted the reality with more calm then she assumed she would. A sulky teenager trudged out of the hallway and passed Rory.

"You can go in now," the receptionist said.

Rory walked into Deva's office and closed the door behind her. "Good afternoon, Rory," Deva greeted.

"It's an afternoon," Rory replied, "Calling it good might be a stretch." she sat down across from Deva.

"Why do you say that?"

Instead of responding, Rory handed Deva the invitation that Mitchum had given her. "An invitation," Deva read aloud, "To celebrate Logan and Odette's third anniversary. I can see how your boyfriend's wedding anniversary can put a damper on an afternoon."

"That's not it. Odette's pregnant. She and Logan are going to announce it as this big shindig."

"Logan invited you to this? That's an...incredibly cruel thing for someone to do."

"Oh, he didn't invite me, his father Mitchum did. He found me going to lunch outside my job, bought me dinner and then threw this at me."

"Does he know? About you and Logan?"

"Does it matter?" Rory said with a shrug, "There is no me and Logan anymore."

"You already broke up with him?" Deva asked, crossing her legs.

"No, but I'm going to."

"Are you sure?"

"There's no other option, I mean, he's going to be somebody's father and I'm going to be the skank he runs too when real life gets too hard. I can't be that skank."

"No offense, you were perfectly happy to be Logan's 'skank', for the last few months" Deva replied, putting air quotes around the word 'skank', "What's changed?"

"Everything's changed. A baby changes everything. You don't grow up okay when your father pops in and out of your life like a jack in the box on steroids. You don't grow up to be a well-adjusted individual who eats their vegetables when your father cares more about his mistress or his job than he does you. You grow up to be a Rory Gilmore or Logan Huntzberger." Rory sighed, "Those aren't great options."

"You wouldn't want a child to grow up like you?"

"Of course not, look at me."

" I see a young woman who made a few mistakes and is beating herself up about them. She has a job she likes and is working towards her future. That's not a mess."

"There should be no work left! I should have figured myself out in college, got a job that didn't make me want to chew my own arm off, and already have a long term significant other after having a series of meaningless one night stands in my early twenties."

"You haven't even hit 35! You have your entire life to become that person. You know, if you think about it, not having yourself figured out is great. You get to keep discovering new things about yourself, it's exciting."

"I didn't want to be discovering myself for the rest of my life. I want to be figured out like everyone else."

"I'm going to tell you this. If anyone your age says that they're got it figured out, they're liars."

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Yeah?" Deva replied before shrugging, "Cut me some slack, not everything I say is going to blow your mind." She sighed. "When do you plan on breaking up with Logan?"

"As soon as possible."

* * *

Powerful as that statement was, Rory didn't really start prying herself apart from Logan until Doyle and Paris had come over to take a look at her new apartment, tucked into a bustling Queens neighborhood. It didn't have the writing room that she always pictured for herself, but it would do. With her trust fund money Rory was able to pay first and last month's rent, the broker's fee and furnish the place at her whim. However, seeing $17k slip out of her bank account so quickly terrified her. She didn't want to end up right back where she started.

Cassandra and Dexter spent their visit putting their sticky little hands into every crevice of her new place, while Paris stalked around, opening cupboards and kicking couch legs.

"This place is an art deco craphole crawling in asbestos." Paris said, her heels clicking about, "What the hell is up with that elevator? And there's no doorman. Rory you're going to die here. It's half a step up from our place when we were back at Yale. I'll have to go to Barney's and get a nice dress for your funeral."

Doyle rolled his eyes, "What she means is that your place is great and you can have packages delivered to our place anytime you want."

Paris rolled her eyes in return and went to gather up her spawn.

"Do you need help getting your stuff out of the penthouse? I've got pretty good connections with a couple of moving companies."

"No," Rory said with a deep breath, "I'll think I should do that myself."


	35. Chapter 35

Rory and Logan passed like ships in the wind at the penthouse. She still slept in their too-big bed but slowly spirited away a few things to her new place. She didn't know where Logan slept and did her best not to think about it. Several times a day, Rory opened her phone, typed out a goodbye before erasing it all. She stared at the call button next to his name and practiced an 'it's over' monologue before chickening out. A break-up email crossed her mind but that was too 2003 for Rory. Despite everything, Logan deserved a face to face even if it was the hardest thing to do.

She walked into the apartment and found Logan sitting in front of the TV. The light of TV flickered across his face, highlighting the bags under his eyes. His face looked worn and sallow. Rory stopped herself from going over and curling up with him.

"Hey," he said, without taking his eyes off the TV.

"Hey," she replied.

Rory sighed and looked at the keys she held in her hand. This was her chance. She pulled off the keys to their –his– apartment before putting them on the vacant couch cushion next to Logan. She walked into the bedroom and pulled out her suitcases. Rory was halfway through her side of the closet when Logan walked into the bedroom and tossed the keys on the bed.

"Packing your bags _and_ giving back the keys? I'm loving the drama."

Ignoring him, Rory continued packing her bags. She heard Logan sigh.

"Are you seriously doing this over a little argument?" he asked.

"That's wasn't a little argument." she replied, stuffing a shirt in her suitcase, "That was you treating me like an idiot and trying to run my life."

"Okay, I get it, it was a dumb thing to say. I'm sorry. You don't have to do this because of a stupid fight."

"It's not just the fight. We don't talk anymore, we don't go out anymore, we don't even want to be in the same room most of the time. Why would I stay?"

"We weren't going to do that forever. All we had to do was talk about it like adults. Not give back keys and pack bags and move back with their mom."

"I'm not going to my mom's. I'm going to my apartment." Rory zipped her suitcase shut.

"You have an apartment? Since when?"

"Three weeks."

"Three weeks? So what? If I hadn't been home you were gonna pack your shit and just go?"

"I'm not doing this to hurt you, Logan."

"Then why are you doing this?" Logan asked.

Rory stood up and grabbed the invitation that she'd stuffed into the bedside table. Logan deflated at the sight of it. Rory held the invitation out to him until he took it from her.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

"Does it matter? Logan, you're married."

"That's not brand new information. I told you that it doesn't matter, it's just for show. Don't do this all over a party. I drink some wine, take some pictures and come home to you. You're the one I want, Rory." he said, reaching out to her.

Rory stepped back. "Did Odette tell you that she's pregnant?"

Logan's face froze. Rory guessed he already knew. It shouldn't have surprised her, it was his wife. "Mitchum told me that you and Odette are going to announce the newest Huntzberger at your party."

"My dad gave this to you?" he asked, holding up the invitation. "He's trying to start shit, don't fall for this."

"There's no shit to start! Your wife is pregnant. We can't keep doing this."

"Rory, c'mon don't be like this."

"Like what?" Rory crossed her arms, "We can't keep playing pretend. We have to be realistic."

"We can still be realistic. We can figure this out," Logan pleaded, his eyes beginning to shine with tears.

Rory started at the suitcase on the ground between them, "You're going to be a father, Logan. We have to do this."

Logan scrubbed a hand under his nose and sat down on the bed. "This is happening, huh?"

She swallowed, "Yeah."

"You think my father would have his second heart attack if I named the baby after you?"

"Stop it."

"It was just a joke! Laugh or cry status over here."

Rory crossed her arms tighter and looked at Logan. "I mean it. I can't only have half of you. I'm too greedy. We'll end up back at here."

"We can do the friend thing, I can do the friend thing." Logan said, grabbing her hand as the tears began to roll down his cheeks, "I can't lose you again when I just found you again."

Shaking her head, Rory pulled her hand away.

Logan licked his lips. "Does it have to be all or nothing?" he asked.

"Yeah, it does."

"Why can't we try?"

Rory let her own tears drip down her face. "What's the point?"

He nodded and stood up. Logan held Rory's in his hands and pressed a damp kiss to her forehead. He smiled down at her. "See you later."

He left her there in the bedroom, clothes half packed and heart empty.

* * *

"Doyle and I have a home interview next week," Paris announced during their lunch.

Winter had lost its grip on the city as March came to an end. Though there was a bit of a nip to the air, many New Yorkers, Paris and Rory included decided to eat at their chosen restaurant's sidewalk tables.

"You guys aren't planning to foster first?" Rory asked, "I hear it's easier to get approved for adoption that way."

"Whoever your source is, they should donate their body to a clown college." Paris replied with a roll of her eyes, "When we crush this home inspection Doyle and I are going to raise the crap out that kid."

"Raising kids isn't a competition."

Taking a sip of her wine, Paris said, "That sounds like something a child raised by a loser would say. No offense."

"You're very energetic today. Did you get some very nice sperms in?"

"Ugh, don't make me talk about work. Three near sterile women came in last week again after I told them that another round of IVF might put them in the hospital. Three! Two of them told me some garbage about God and love and I had to kick them out. The only thing keeping me from burning my building to the ground is the thought of showing up at Alumni day at Chilton and rubbing my success in The Puff's puffy little faces."

"Puffy?"

"Oh-ho-ho, _very_ puffy. I've seen Francine's picture in the society pages when I go home and remind my mother why she doesn't deserve to live. That woman could be the face of the Michelin Tire Company. You heading back to the old country for Alumni day?"

Rory shrugged, "Probably not, Headmaster Charles asked me to talk to a group of freshmen about my career trajectory and I have nothing to say."

Not to them and not to her mom. Her mother had been ignoring her for the last few weeks. She had talked to Luke, James, and her grandmother and not one of them mentioned the fight that she and her mom were having. If she went back home and didn't stay at the house, Luke would know something was up. If she stayed under the same roof as her mother, Rory knew they wouldn't be able to get out in one piece. She was mad as hell at her mom. When she needed her the most, Rory couldn't pick up the phone and call her and hear her voice and know she did the right thing by leaving Logan. Instead, Rory had to pick herself up alone while her mom pouted about whatever they were fighting about.

"Rory, kids today need to know that going to college for a degree in the arts is one way trip to poverty. You're a great example of how creative careers aren't forever and you will have to eventually abandon everything that put you thousands of dollars in debt and start over."

"Ouch."

"Twist it into some inspirational woo-woo nonsense about how you can still be successful even when your dreams are a failure if that makes you feel better. My therapist told me that people like to hear about," Paris snapped her fingers as she tried to remember. "What's that thing?"

"Hope?" Rory suggested.

"Yes, that. I don't get it, but I'm not the professional. Just do it, Rory, Headmaster Charles would probably have his third heart attack if golden girl Gilmore didn't show her face."

"I'll think about it."

"That's all I'm–" Paris slammed her lips shut and leaned around Rory with a squint of her eyes.

Rory raised an eyebrow. "What are you looking at?" she asked.

"It's Logan and his alt-Stepford wife."

Closing her eyes, Rory swallowed. She didn't want to turn around. She had avoided Odette when she and Logan were together. If she didn't hear about Odette or see the woman, she didn't exist. Rory didn't want the last time she saw Logan be when he was with his wife. But she found her body twisting around anyway. She opened her eyes. Paris's eyes were sharp. It took Rory a few seconds to catch sight of Logan's hair and the familiar gray plaid trench coat he liked to wear. Some blocks away he was crossing a busy street, with a woman who Rory assumed was Odette on his arm. She was shorter than Logan so her face was blocked by his shoulder but for a split second Logan fell a step behind and Rory saw it.

The belly.

In a flash, Logan and Odette were swallowed by the 7th avenue crowd.

"Can you believe he's moving to London?" Paris asked when Rory turned back around.

"What?"

"Doyle's friends with Logan on Facebook. Little wifey made a post about the move and tagged him in it."

"London?" Rory echoed.

"Yep. You know what I think? I think he's running from a bad deal. Wouldn't be the first time."

Rory pulled her coat tight around her throat. It wouldn't be.


	36. Chapter 36

"Luke," Mr. Doose said as he walked into the diner, "Your flower garlands are impeccable! I couldn't have done it better myself. Well, I could have but still very good garland hanging."

Luke looked up from the counter and grunted in response.

"Good morning, Lorelai," Mr. Doose said. He sat down next to her at the counter. "Luke," he called, "I'll have a Southwest omelet and a large coffee. You know how I like it."

A thick vein pulsed in Luke's neck. "No, I don't."

"Yes, you do." Mr. Doose turned to Lorelai, "Lorelai tell him."

"Luke, you've been serving this pillar of the community coffee for over two decades. You know how he _likes_ it." Lorelai said with a wiggle of her shoulders.

"No. I don't. How do you want your coffee, Taylor."

"Now Luke, I'm sure if you really tried you can remember the way I take it. Here I'll give you a hint. I take it **hot**."

"Don't we all, Taylor?" replied Lorelai.

Luke slammed his notepad onto the counter. "You know what? Now you get no coffee. Wash your omelet down with water. One Southwest omelet!" Luke shouted into the kitchen before smacking the bell on the counter.

Mr. Doose gasped. "Luke I would appreciate a cup of coffee and frankly, friendlier service."

"If you want friendly service, try the psych ward at Stars Hollow memorial." Luke filled a to-go cup with coffee and passed it to Lorelai.

"Thank you, Lukey," she replied, pinching his cheek.

"You know how she likes it by heart? Are you playing favorites in a public establishment?"

Lorelai bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. If she were a good woman she would take her coffee and be on her way.

Thank God, she wasn't a good woman.

"Hey, Taylor, how did you say you wanted your omelet?" she asked.

Luke turned to her, furious.

"Thank you for reminding me, Lorelai. I would like it to be hot and firm. Not too firm, of course, because I do enjoy something nice and moist in my mouth–"

"Time for work Lorelai, I'm walking you to your car," Luke said. He tossed his shoulder rag under the counter. "Carlos, watch the store!"

Luke stomped over to the door and held it open for Lorelai. "Let's move!"

"But Luke, my omelet!" Mr. Doose said.

"One more word and I'll take your omelet–"

"Sorry, Taylor we got car walking to do. Let's move!" Lorelai said, dragging Luke outside.

The diner door swung shut behind them and Lorelai finally laughed. Luke watched her, as she was overcome with giggles and sighed, "Are you in 6th grade?"

Lorelai stood up and wiped a tear that leaked out of her eye. "What? You didn't like hearing how Taylor likes it hot and moist and firm?"

Luke cringed, "No thank you," he crossed his arms. "Have you heard from Rory lately?" he asked.

"Heard? No, but we've been texting like the modern women we are."

"Huh. I was talking to her on the phone and told her about how you almost snapped your neck on that nature field trip thing with James the other day and she acted like she heard it for the first time. That happened weeks ago. You didn't tell her?"

"Must have slipped my mind," Lorelai said with a shrug, "We text about the important stuff like blush colors and puppies and dick size."

Luke flinched, "Please don't tell me you're talking about my dick with our daughter."

Lorelai put a hand to her chest, offended, "Luke, I would never. We mostly talk about other dicks, New York dicks. Dicks with MetroCards and man buns."

Shaking his head, Luke sighed before giving Lorelai a kiss, "Have a good day at work."

Lorelai cheerfully waved at him before climbing into the Jeep. It turned out that even though she and Luke had spent a lot of money on therapy, Lorelai was still a lying liar who lied. For what it was worth, her incredibly stupid, over the top, scream-cry fight with her only daughter was the only thing she was lying to her husband about.

Scout's honor.

She knew she should've apologized to Rory by now but Lorelai felt betrayed. What good could her mom have done that Rory would tell her such huge news before telling her? Her mom had been so damn smug about it, too. Lately, her mother had been getting on her last nerves. That wasn't new, but Lorelai guessed that she had conjured up a brand new form of torture and it was working very well.

Lorelai didn't think her mother could carry on with the whole "being nice" thing for more than ten minutes but somehow, she had kept up with it. No matter how obnoxious and loud Lorelai was, her mom was still "nice". Anyone else would think that Emily had changed for good, but Lorelai knew better. This would not be PuddingGate Part II, directed by M. Night Shamalan. Lorelai knew the score. Emily would try to do better but eventually when no one sees it coming, she'd make a comment, they'd have a fight and then the cycle would start all over again. This declaration of "niceness" had Esther written all over it. Esther wouldn't admit, with the whole patient confidentiality thing, but Lorelai found the whole situation 50% hilarious. She couldn't believe that her mother needed a therapist to tell her to be somewhat polite to her only child.

The newly reinstated Friday Night dinners were brutal. Watching Luke and James fall under her mom's spell was super gross. And she had to sit there and pretend to play happy family because if she didn't she would be the one in the wrong. She refused to be caught in that particular trap. James was her beautiful bouncy baby boy and as such, she got why he fell for it. But Luke! She didn't understand how he wasn't hip to Emily's jive by now. Emily only started to tolerate him after she got pregnant with James. Had James turned out to be Jaimie that might not have even happened.

Lorelai parked down the block from the Inn and turned off the car. She smacked her head against the wheel. Maybe she'd call Rory and hash it all out. Pretending it never happened and waiting for Rory to break first was a classic Emily Gilmore move. She was not trying to be a classic Emily Gilmore. She unhooked her seatbelt and rummaged around her purse for a stick of gum when she heard the faint sounds of working men. She looked out of the window and up near the Inn, big moving vans and a crowd of uniformed men were milling around. That was new.

The front lawn was teeming with men hauling flowers, digging up the lawn, and sweating all over the place. Michel was on the porch, apparently supervising.

"Michel," she said stomping over to him, "What did you do?"

"Why do you think I had anything to do with this? These men said that you hired them."

"What?" she replied.

Michel didn't answer, too busy herding the workmen around, "Hey you! Do not put those pots next to each other! I know you can hear me! Don't make me run after you!" Michel bounded down the stairs after the man.

Lorelai dodged a sentient rose bush with two workman legs and looked around the lawn. While all these hairy men looked like they knew what they were doing, Lorelai needed to find the biggest and hairiest man and establish dominance. Or, ask him what the hell was going on. Near the edge of the lawn, where the sidewalk met the grass, a man in a polo shirt was standing by pointing and holding a clipboard.

Bingo.

"Excuse me," Lorelai said as she jogged up to him, "Hi. Lorelai Gilmore, owner and proprietor of this beautiful lawn you are currently desecrating."

"Ed," the man said, pointing to the nametag clipped to his coat.

"Okay, Ed. What are you doing?"

"Landscaping."

Ed was obviously a man of few words.

"I can see that. Why exactly are you doing that here? Are you some kind of landscaping vigilante?"

"No, I'm Ed. You paid in full for this, what's the problem?"

"I did not pay for this."

Ed held up his clipboard and flipped a few pages. He turned it to Lorelai and tapped the page with his pen. "Here, paid in full: Emily Gilmore."

Deja-freaking-Vu.

"My name is Lorelai. I literally just told you that." Lorelai replied snatching the clipboard out of his hands.

It was amazing. In all the years the Firefly Inn existed, Lorelai could count on her hand how many times her mother set foot in it. But somehow, Emily had managed to give Ed the perfect dimensions of her property. She had whipped out her scrapbooking skills and given Ed color swatches, vase preferences, and flower arrangement diagrams. Her mother was Martha Stewert on meth. Lorelai rolled her eyes and gave Ed his clipboard back.

"Uh, if you're not happy, we can rip this all out and take it back."

Lorelai turned around and squinted at the Inn. Damn her mother for being Martha Stewert on meth. The place was already looking better with her stupid flowers and bushes. "Keep going," she replied through gritted teeth. "You already dug up most of the place."

Ed nodded and walked away to do something that had to do with flowers or leaves or whatever. Lorelai shook her head. Her mother always did this! She was revving herself up to start a scathing internal monologue about leopard's never changing their spots or something poetic like that when she paused.

Her mother always did this.

Emily was butting into her life without listening to her, again. The whole leaf turning, 'i'm a nice mommy' now act had been dropped. Lorelai smiled as she walked into the lobby of the Inn. It felt good to be right. The fact that she was right about her mother never changing to repair their relationship was something she would address in therapy later. But right now, she right and that was all that mattered.

And to think Luke looked at her like she was crazy for not jumping for joy when her mother made it through an entire dinner without insulting her. Lorelai tries to make time to hide in her office or the walk-in freezer to call Luke and tell him 'I told you so!' as is her right, but mishaps kept popping up all over the Inn, all day. To make matters worse and to salt her flowery wounds, it was as if Emily had paid every patron in the place to come up and compliment about how beautiful the new flowers were. Lorelai got it, it was a nice lawn, people didn't need to write home about it.

"Hey Lorelai, check it out. We just got a new 5-star review on TripAdvisor," one of the front desk people said from behind the computer, "They said the last star was just because of the beautiful new landscaping."

Oy, with the foliage.

"That's nice Callum," Lorelai muttered before walking into the kitchen.

"Sookie, I need coffee ASAP. Scratch that, I need it faster than ASAP, like yesterday if possible. You know what? Forget it. Crush up some espresso beans so I can snort them."

"Geez, sounds like you been elected head of party-pooping movement," Sookie replied as she put her hands on her hips. "It's a great day! Not one dish has been sent back to the kitchen and when Jackson dropped of the onions today, he thought the flowers at the back porch were so gorgeous that he put a picture of it up on Instagram. You know how he feels about Instagram."

"Ah yes. Farmer Brown thinks that the government is taking our faces to engineer holograms to spread fake news across the world and start World War III."

"You do read links he sends you on Facebook!"

Lorelai only sighed and went to harass the coffee machine. Sookie wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to Lorelai. She took no notice of her sous chefs closing head level cabinets in her way and moving sharp objects out of her line of fire. She arrived in front of Lorelai, unscathed.

"What's wrong?"

Lorelai crossed her arms and looked out the window. She groaned at the sight of those huge fat flowers staring her in the face. She threw her hands up, exasperated. "Are you kidding? There's flowers on the windowsill? What the hell!"

"If you didn't want flowers there, why'd you buy them?"

"I didn't buy anything. My mom did this."

"Emily did this? That's nice of her."

"No it's not."

"It's not?"

"Its-" Lorelai glanced around and found that the kitchen was not so subtly listening to her ranting. She grabbed Sookie's arm. "Let's talk in my office."

When the office door closed behind them, Lorelai unloaded.

"She bought those stupid flowers without telling me. The same way she ordered internet to be installed without asking me, the same way she planned Luke's 50th birthday party without asking me and the same way she picked out my debutant dress without asking me. She never asks anyone what they want. She just throws her money around and dares you to be ungrateful."

"Wow," Sookie replied, "Maybe we cut you off from the coffee today."

"Sookie," Lorelai groaned, "I'm already in therapy. She's in therapy. The next step is either mommy and me lobotomies or walking into traffic."

"Maybe you could try talking to her first. The traffic around here is bad enough."


	37. Chapter 37

Pips Bailey could not throw a party to save her own life. If a gunman had her grandchildren up against a wall and told her to pick a tasteful wine and fish pairing; those poor children wouldn't live to see the day. However, Emily was a valued member of the DAR and it wouldn't look good if she skipped out on another member's party, even if that member didn't know what a good cocktail tasted like. So Emily put on one of her nicer jackets and suffered through Pip's interpretation of a garden party.

Emily checked her watch. She had spent a polite amount of time mingling, nibbling on dry hors d'oeuvres, and baking in the springtime sun and was ready to call her driver.

"Emily!" Missy Gutman called out to her as she walked through the crowd of tweed and pearls, "How are you?"

Emily accepted a cheek kiss and gave one back. Missy had been apart of the DAR for as long as Emily had been. She still wouldn't call her a friend.

Not after the crystal punch bowl incident of '86.

Never, after the crystal punch bowl incident of '86.

"I'm doing well, Missy, thank-you. A tad bit warm. You?"

"Yes," Missy said, pressing a silk cloth to her neck, "I'm a bit warm myself. Had Pips told me she wasn't putting out the canopies, I would've worn my spring hat. You know the one, don't you dear?"

The one that looked like a flock of birds defecated on a beehive, that Missy had worn to every spring garden party for the last 15 years? Yes, she knew the one.

"That lovely yellow one?" Emily replied.

"Yes! Still as sharp as ever. Let's get into the shade dear before we cook like turkeys." Missy said, leading Emily into Pips kitchen. Missy handed Emily a glass of ice water. "Now Emily. I heard that you were talking to Amato Vincenzo."

Emily rolled her eyes, "Darby's stepson? Hardly. He harassed me at the bar at one of our fundraisers. Talking to. Don't be absurd."

"I had to make sure. Emily, you're a dear friend–"

Hah.

"–And I wouldn't want you to bring someone who doesn't deserve it into your impeccable social circle."

"Besides being an annoying little boy, what makes you think he doesn't deserve to be in my social circle?" Emily asked.

"He's classist," Missy hissed, leaning in close.

Emily blinked. This coming from a woman didn't believe any child not sent to private school couldn't associate with own family?

"Classist?" Emily repeated.

"Yes. You know how my Dicky is running that cute Italian bistro in New York? He's been running it for 5 years and the food is top-notch if I do say so myself."

Instead of rolling her eyes, Emily nodded. Missy had to say the food was top-notch because how else could she justify her son's failing restaurant?

"Amato gave my son's restaurant a horrible review. It was incredibly unprofessional. Talking about the food is one thing, but dragging my husband's hard-earned money through the mud is another. He had a lot of nerve too with that father of his."

"That's all? He gave your son's restaurant a bad review?"

Missy huffed. "No. He used his platform as a critic to turn his back on the lifestyle he was born into to appeal to the bohemians in New York. When being a critic fails he'll be right back where he started, begging for his father's money."

"You don't think that's a tad too much for one bad review?"

"Its the principle of it all, Emily. Amato thinks people like us shouldn't use the money that we rightfully earned to support our families. With all that you've done to help Lorelai, don't you find that insulting?"

"I suppose."

Missy's costume jewelry laden fingers grabbed her wrist. "Promise me you'll be alert around him. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

"Of course, Missy," Emily replied. "Thank you for thinking of me."

Missy smiled before taking a sip of her water. She grimaced.

"This must be tap. Have I told you about the amazing freshwater springs at my summer home in the Alps?"

–––––––––

Emily arrived to a quiet home and an ostentatious bouquet of flowers on the foyer table.

"Where did these come from?" Emily asked the nearest maid. "I wasn't expecting any deliveries today."

"It was delivered earlier this afternoon, Mrs. Gilmore. It came with this," the maid said and handed Emily a white envelope.

Taking the envelope, Emily scrutinized the bouquet.

"Put this in the dining room. Not on the dining room table, but the oak side table on the left." Emily said.

Alone in her bedroom, Emily put on her reading glasses and sat down at her vanity to open the envelope. There was a letter inside. It read,

'Dear Mrs. Gilmore,

Forgive Darby for giving me your address. She wasn't aware of how much a fool I made of myself at the fundraiser and thought nothing of it. I thought a well-bred woman like you would appreciate something that took more effort than a text or an e-mail. I have a bad habit of putting my foot in my mouth when I talk to beautiful women. It doesn't excuse the way I behaved or spoke to you and I'd like to apologize.

Going forward, when in the presence of elegant, beautiful women like yourself, I will remove myself immediately and relocate to the nearest dumpster where I belong.

Yours truly, and still sorry,

Matt.'

Emily pressed a hand to her cheek and was shocked to find that it was burning hot. She was blushing. Blushing! A woman her age blushing from a letter written by a...boy! A boy young enough to be her son. It was ridiculous and outrageous. Her medications were probably weren't mixing well with the 2nd tier wine Pips had served her. Emily folded up the letter and tried to put it back in the envelope but it wouldn't budge. She put a little more force into it and flinched as the letter tore. Emily took the letter out again and a business card fluttered into her lap. Matt had scratched out the number and written another underneath. In a carefree scrawl next to the number he'd written 'Call me' along with a smiley face Lorelai liked to draw all over her schoolbooks years ago.

Call him? And do what? Talk about her aching hip or her thinning hair? Would he help her count out her morning and evening medication? There was no point in any of this. At the least, Emily could write a thank-you note in return and send it along to Darby with a bottle of wine. Emily wouldn't entertain any silly ideas about her and Matt. She would never disrespect Richard like that.

Richard was everything to her. Sometimes, right when she woke up, she swore she could hear Richard grumbling in the bathroom and her heart almost burst with happiness. But then she'd open eyes and she'd be alone again. Emily unlocked her vanity drawer and placed Matt's letter and card inside. She slid the drawer closed and locked it.

The next morning, Emily felt like taking a drive down to Stars Hollow to see how the flowers were doing at Lorelai's Inn. Knowing how much Lorelai hated for Emily to arrive unannounced, she called ahead. Instead of Lorelai picking up, it was the polite Frenchman who worked at the front desk.

"Firefly Inn, Michel speaking. Lorelai can not come to the phone at the moment, may I take a message?"

"It's Emily Gilmore. I'd like to come down and visit the Inn and take a look at the grounds. Is that possible or is the Inn too busy?"

"For you Mrs. Gilmore, the Inn is never too busy. Here, let me book a table for lunch as well."

"Oh, you don't have to go to the trouble."

"It's no trouble at all. After taking a look at our beautiful new grounds, Chef Sookie's cooking will energize and revitalize you."

"That does sound quite nice. Fine, book me a table."

"Excellent, does early afternoon work for you? 12:30?"

"That's just fine, I'll see you then."

Emily decided to wear her eggshell blue pantsuit and her freshwater pearl earrings. She unlocked her vanity drawer and paused. The letter. She licked her lips before tucking it into her purse. She'd bring it with her so she could write a reply at lunch, as rude as that was, and then pick a bottle of wine on the way home. She'd post them both and be done with it.

At therapy, Esther agreed that she was doing a good job of being kind and polite to Lorelai. Emily felt a bit silly being proud of herself for doing something as simple as keeping her mouth shut but she couldn't help it. Luke was warm and inviting to her once again. James, of course, was always happy to see her. The only one who was still so sour to her was Lorelai, but Emily wasn't surprised. She had raised Lorelai to hold a grudge like no other. Despite her best efforts, Lorelai still behaved as if everything Emily said was an insult. She was doing her best to distance herself from the cruel reality of their relationship that Lorelai had thrown in her face that night on the porch, but it was like Lorelai was fighting tooth and nail to hold on to it. Whenever they were together Lorelai came as close to throwing a tantrum as possible. It was absurd. Emily wasn't going to let Lorelai's natural state of petulance slow her down. Esther's new techniques had worked wonders for her and Rory's relationship. Rory called her every week and when she didn't have the time, Emily received an email. It was fabulous.

As Emily walked up the gravel path to the front of the Firefly Inn, she smiled. She had done a spectacular job of flower color coordination and placement. The marble plant holders looked even better than they did in the photos. It was like a brand new place.

Michel was waiting for her in the lobby. He pressed a chic kiss to her hand. "Mrs. Gilmore, welcome back to the Firefly Inn."

"Thank you, the grounds look wonderful."

"But not as wonderful as you. Please, let me take you to your table in the dining room." Michel replied, holding out his elbow to her.

Emily took his elbow and let him lead her to the dining room, where they were accosted by a frazzled young woman in a red blazer.

"Mr. Gerard, the couple in 302 broke the bed and now they want a refund, what do I do?"

Michel rolled his eyes. "The same couple who was told not to jump on the bed, broke their bed? What a surprise. Mrs. Gilmore, I'm sorry but I have to run, please let the hostess seat you."

Michel ran off and hostess took Emily to a table right near the windows. Emily had just finished giving the waiter her order when Lorelai strutted through the dining room and into the kitchen. The kitchen doors swung for a moment before Lorelai walked right back out and stared at her.

"Mom?" Lorelai said.

"Hello, Lorelai. Why don't sit down so we don't yell across the room and disturb your guests."

Lorelai pursed her lips but did as she was told. She sat across from Emily and sighed, "We can be pretty disturbing."

Emily used all of her willpower not to roll her eyes.

"Mom, you know how I feel about you showing up without giving me a heads up."

"I did give you a 'heads-up'. I called your phone and Michel answered and offered to book a table for lunch. He's your employee, I assumed he told you."

"Must've slipped his mind."

"Do you want me to leave?" Emily asked, putting her hand on her purse. She would leave. It was far easier to avoid Lorelai when she worked herself up into one of her moods. It was far more beneficial for everyone.

"No, you can stay, it's fine," Lorelai replied, looking as if she had eaten a particularly sour lemon.

"Thank-you. The lawn looks wonderful. It was nice of you to let me buy some new flowers to brighten up the place."

"Letting you what? I didn't let you do anything. You went behind my back, again, and did whatever you wanted."

"You told me at dinner that I could buy flowers for the Inn."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes you did, Lorelai. I asked you if you planned to purchase any spring flowers for the Inn and you said you hadn't thought about it. When I said that I wouldn't mind picking out some flowers for you, you said 'knock yourself out'. Is that not permission?"

"Bwah? What? I don't even remember that conversation. Why did you even take me seriously?"

"I wasn't informed of the schedule of when not to take you seriously."

Lorelai then did one of her favorite things. She rolled her eyes.

"Look Lorelai, if you want me to leave, I'll leave. I'll call my waiter back over and cancel my meal and get out of your hair."

"I already said you don't have to do that."

"It's obvious that my being here is upsetting you, so I'll just go back home. Maybe I'll call Luke and tell him I'm visiting the diner to see how things are."

"Things are fine there just like things are fine here, you don't have–"

"Emily! That is you!"

Emily blinked and turned around. There in the entrance of Lorelai's rinky little bed and breakfast, was Matt.


	38. Chapter 38

Lorelai furrowed her brows and leaned to the side to get a good look at the man calling her mother's name.

"You know that guy?"

Turning back around, Emily smoothed down any wrinkles on her shirt and bumped the ends of hair. "I know of him, yes."

Matt came over to the table and with no warning, bent down and pressed a kiss to Emily's cheek.

"Fancy meeting you here."

"Yes," Emily said before clearing her throat, "Fancy that."

"Did you get my letter?"

"Yes."

"And the flowers? Did you like them?" Matt flipped a lock of salt and pepper hair out of his eyes, "I'm no flower expert, I just picked the one that looked the nicest."

"Lucky for you, you're talking to the woman with the greenest thumb in all the East coast. We meet again," Lorelai said, sticking her hand in Matt's face for a handshake, "Lorelai Gilmore, owner of this lovely Inn you're currently inhabiting and the daughter of the woman you're apparently writing letters and sending flowers to."

Matt shook Lorelai's hands before snapping his fingers, "Gilmore! I don't know why I didn't figure it out before. My room's great, by the way."

"You're staying here?" Emily blurted out. "Why aren't you staying with Darby or at the Hartford Marriott?"

"Gee mom, thanks for the support. Why don't I leave you two alone to catch up? I'm sure somewhere some towels need to be folded."

Lorelai hopped out of her chair and let Matt take her place.

"To answer your question, I can't stay in that house. Darby keeps asking me what my ex and I did to conceive since my father told her that Belinda was around her age when we had the twins."

"Conceive? She and your father are trying to have a child?" Emily blinked, forgetting herself, "Well, they'll be in my prayers."

Matt chuckled, "You've got better manners than the nuns at the Catholic school my father shipped me off too when I was a kid."

"I like to think I was raised well."

"You and Lorelai. One of Belinda's friends recommended this place. Steps above the Marriott."

Emily didn't believe that but she commended Matt on his efforts to compliment Lorelai.

"Yes, Lorelai's done very well for herself."

Emily thanked the waiter who dropped her meal in front of her. Matt tapped her hand. "Do you mind if I have lunch with you? It's getting boring trying to figure out Instagram and eat at the same time."

"I suppose it's a bit sad to watch a grown man eating by himself," she replied.

"A smile! Does that mean that I'm out of the doghouse?"

Emily's smile faltered.

"Because I meant what I said in my letter, sorry, wrote in my letter. I overstepped."

"Wildly."

"And I'm sorry. Am I forgiven?"

Hiding another smile behind a sip of water, Emily shrugged. "I don't know. One of my dear friends warned me about you."

"Warned you? About me? I feel dastardly. Damn, I should've grown out my mustache so I could twirl it. What'd they say?"

"It's inappropriate to gossip, Amato."

"C'mon, don't tease," Matt pleaded.

"If you must know, you are calling for the disestablishment of the upper class and support the rise of socialism."

Matt laughed so hard that a tear crawled down the side of his face. Emily couldn't help but join in.

The afternoon was spent laughing between drinks and mouthfuls of food. Emily couldn't recall the last time she'd had such a carefree day. Matt's phone vibrated on the table.

"Damn," he said, "Time to take my blood pressure pills. Left them back in my room."

"I won't keep you then," Emily said. She pulled her purse into her lap and pulled out her wallet.

"Ooh! Too slow Emily." Matt said as he placed a few bills on the table. "Now you have to let me be a gentleman and let you run off and make all your friends jealous at your very fancy soiree tonight."

Tonight? Emily looked out of the window. The sun was on its way to set. Matt offered his arm to Emily and helped her out of her seat.

"You still have my number, right?" Matt asked, leaning in close to Emily. "Maybe we could get lunch again. Not to brag but I have an in with the best restaurants on the East coast. Whaddaya say?"

"Just lunch?" Emily asked, trying not to enjoy the way his breath fanned against her ear.

"Lunch between friends."

She smiled. "I'll think about it. Now, run along and take your medication before you drop dead in front of me."

"If your face was the last thing I saw before I go, it would've have been worth it."

Emily had to tighten her grip on her purse to stop from bludgeoning Matt with it. Matt shrugged with a laugh. "Too cheesy?"

"A touch."

Matt lifted Emily's arm before pressing a kiss to her hand. He waved and jogged to the stairs and disappeared. Emily watched him until she couldn't see him any longer before sitting down in one of the chairs in the lobby and calling for her driver. The harpist filled the room with sweet music, Emily would have to find out how to hire her for one of her summer soirees.

"Have a nice lunch?" Lorelai asked out of thin air, giving her a fright.

"For goodness sake Lorelai, don't pop out like that. You'll send me to an early grave," Emily said as she pressed her hand to her racing heart.

"I can pop out from wherever dark shadows I please. My place of business, remember? Anyway. You have a nice lunch with whatshisname?"

"Matt."

"Ah yes, Matt. You guys were chit-chatting for quite a while. When did you become such a chatterbox?"

"Matt is a very interesting man. We had plenty to talk about."

"Okay mom, you can drop the act," Lorelai said with a laugh.

"Excuse me?"

"You just happened to take a ride down to see the flowers you ordered and he just happens to be staying here and just happened upon you eating lunch so you could spend a few hours talking? I'm not eight years old."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Emily replied, standing up.

"Give it up, already! You're not even wearing your wedding ring. You and that Matt guy are totally using the Firefly as your creepy little love nest. Blegh."

Emily looked down at her left hand. It was bare except for the pale strip of skin on her ring finger. She had taken it off to wash her face that morning and then…

"I have to say, mom, this Matt guys looks a little young for you. Were you planning on driving around the block and then climbing up into his room like a naughty girl? I would advise against it, he's on, like, the 3rd floor and I'm not sure if your hip could handle it."

"How dare you!" Emily hissed, clutching her purse to her stomach. "How could think that I would defile your father's memory like that? That I–I would cheapen my marriage like that. Is that what you think of me? That I'm some kind of _whore_?"

Lorelai flinched back, "I didn't say that. Mom–"

"You didn't have to! I would never do that. How dare you. How dare you."

Emily pushed passed Lorelai and walked out the front door of the Inn. She wobbled across the pavement and curled herself into the back of the car.

That wasn't what she was doing.

It wasn't.


	39. Chapter 39

Emily thought of herself as many things. Shrewd, tenacious, sharp.

But never desperate.

Lorelai was right. She had spent the afternoon giggling and slobbering over a man young enough to be her son. When had she turned into this? She had been doing so well. She went to therapy, she went on walks, she talked to her friends, she went to events–she was around so many people. She didn't understand how she had become so desperate that she would throw herself at the first man who looked at her as anything other than an old woman. She had become easy.

When the old bat, Trix died, Richard may have fumbled for a moment but he pulled himself together. He had been appropriate about his grief to the best of his abilities. Emily was falling apart, no matter how hard she tried. She closed her bedroom door behind her and sat down at her vanity. She turned on the lights that dotted the edges of the mirror and flinched at the brightness. The woman staring back at her was a stranger. A stranger that Richard would be nothing but embarrassed of. Emily sighed and cradled her head in her hands.

If she squeezed her eyes tightly enough, she could hear him. She could smell him–Burberry cologne and pipe smoke–as he walked by her to sit on the bed and pull off his shoes. He would leave them there on the floor and moan endlessly when the maids would put them away. He would rest his glasses on the bedside table and wonder out loud like he did every night what potion she was brewing at her little desk. The bed creaked and Emily whirled around. It was nothing. The bed was an old wooden methuselah and was making all sorts of noises these days. Emily turned back to her vanity and rubbed her temple. It was the same spot Richard would press a kiss on his way to the master bathroom. A shaking hand swiped away the tears crawling down her cheeks.

* * *

"So I've pretty much decided that if Martha wants to become a baby prostitute then it's fine by me."

Lorelai damn near slid off the counter she was sitting on. "Wha–?" she said as she stumbled to her feet, "Baby prostitute? Martha?!"

"Well hello, Lorelai, welcome back to the land of the living."

"Thanks," Lorelai replied. "I really needed those 10 years shaved off my life. Who wants to see their children grow up and get married? Not me."

"It was a last resort. You've been a million miles away all day. What's going on?"

"Same old, same old. My mother."

Sookie put her hands on her hips. "You made me bake 3 pies last month to celebrate your mother canceling Friday night dinners again. What's wrong now?"

"Wrong? I don't think anything's wrong, it's everyone else who thinks somethings wrong. Either she's died or she's keeping the most dedicated vow of silence since Mindy Kaling kept mum about her baby daddy. Every 10 seconds someone's calling me to ask about where she's been."

"Maybe she needed some time alone."

Alone from what? Lorelai wasn't up to date with her mother's schedule but she knew that Emily was alone most of the time. If she were any more solitary, it would be considered a cruel and unusual punishment.

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "She should teach a class on how to make your children feel guilty until the day they're lowered in the ground."

"Ooh, I'd take that class." Sookie replied. "Listen don't worry about it. It was a joke. Some people might say that after all this time you should know better than to joke with your mother but–"

"You're my best friend and you are legally obligated to not tell me the truth, so zip it."

Sookie mimed zipping her lips shut.

Of course, Lorelai didn't mean to hurt her mother's feelings. There are many times, and Lorelai would make a list if Esther asked her, when she meant to hurt her mother's feelings. This was not one of those times! Sookie was right, she should have known better. Her mother ran hot and cold depending on which way the wind blew.

The call from one of the maids–Sally, or Susan or whatever–to cancel Friday night dinners on behalf of Emily was like a breath of fresh air. Lorelai assumed that she'd get 2 weeks of Friday nights to herself at max but 2 turned to 3 and 3 turned into a month. And that turned into Luke asking about Emily when they got into bed.

Gross.

And that turned into James asking if "grandma called cause' she not responding to my texts. She won't pick up when I face time either."

And that turned into Ritzy Carmichael (what kind of name?) coming into the Inn and dropping off the ugliest flower basket as a get well gift for "Your Poor Mother".

Lorelai pulled her arm back with a yelp and glared at Sookie whose fingers were still in prime pinching position. "If you're not even going to listen to what these amazing asparagus Jackson grew are going to do to the menu, get outta here!"

"Okay, geez. See you later vegetable nazi."

Snagging a cup of coffee on the way out, Lorelai walked through the dining room and back into the lobby. On a day like today, when her little pea brain was telling her to go run after mommy and make sure she was still okay, Lorelai would have welcomed an uppity couple of newlyweds or a crotchety old bastard attempting to sue because their duvets were too scratchy. But, because the universe was continuously against her, the Firefly Inn was filled with polite, happy guests. A few actually left a couple of compliments in the suggestion box at the desk on their way out. It was the kind of thing that was going to drive her to drink or worse, drive her to organize that mysterious box of papers in her office.

Lorelai's feet tingled with the urge to get in her car and drive to the Gilmore mansion. Since the Inn didn't carry the $125 cinnamon-coffee schnaps she stashed in her underwear drawer at home, Lorelai guessed she was spending the afternoon doing paperwork.

3 hours and about 6,000 papercuts later, Lorelai emerged from her office. Michel walked up to her, eyebrow raised. "Why Lorelai, I know you are crumbling into dust due to your advanced age, but this is shocking."

"Cool it, Pepe le Ew." Lorelai replied before sneezing, "I'm the only reason you and your man can afford to have such pretty white teeth. One more word and your dental is kaput. Finished!"

Michel plucked a fabulously fluffy dust bunny from Lorelai's hair and smiled. "Whatever you say."

Lorelai stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm leaving for lunch!"

Usually, she would've popped into the kitchen and sampled some of Sookie's goods, but Lorelai was feeling an itch. A specific itch that could only be scratched by two things.

Processed orange juice byproduct and deep-fried bread covered in sugar. Lorelai was going to the mall.

* * *

Lorelai was pretty sure that a large SunShine Orange smoothie and 2 mega pretzels from good old Auntie Anne's counted as lunch. She walked around the mall hoping something would keep her mind off the fact that her mother may or may not be withering away in the caverns of her bedroom. Something did catch her eye but it wasn't a shiny pair of earrings; it was one of her mother's maids. Lorelai almost didn't recognize her without her uniform and a plate in front of her. Before she could stop herself, Lorelai plopped down next to her on the bench next to the water fountain. The maid took her eyes off her phone to glance at her before going back to her screen.

"Hey," Lorelai said.

"Hey," the maid muttered back, nose still in her phone.

"Aren't you one of my mother's maids? Becky?"

The maid sighed and rolled her eyes. "My name is Bridgit."

"Whoops, sorry. I didn't know mom let you guys out of the house during the day."

Bridgit-not-Becky glared at her. "It's my day off," she replied.

"Oh wow, I didn't know my mom gave days off."

Bridgit-not-Becky sighed. "Was there something you wanted?"

"Yes, actually. I just need a little status update on mother dearest if you don't mind."

With a shrug, Bridgit-not-Becky said, "She looked fine the last time I saw her."

"When was that?"

"2 weeks ago."

Don't panic. Don't panic.

"Has anyone else at the house seen her that's not taking a mall vacay?"

"No," Bridgit-not-Becky said as she stood up, "Nobody's at the house. It's just her. Listen, I have an appointment to get to."

Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.

Bridgit-not-Becky didn't have to go far to get to her appointment. Lorelai could see her take a seat on a bench at the opposite side of the mall.

Lorelai was not panicking but having spent 16 years of her life in that house, she couldn't remember a single day that a maid or cook or gardener wasn't in the background. Lorelai wasn't sure that her mother knew how to function without a hired hand. With a bite to her lip, Lorelai stopped herself. She wasn't going to go down with that ship. Her mother was fine. Her mother was perpetually fine. She was probably up at Martha's Vineyard getting some sun and didn't want the help skulking around without her presence.

Everything was fine.

* * *

Luke looked up from the cash register and shook his head. "Yeah, that's not good."

Lorelai looked over her shoulder at James. He was sitting in one of the booths, nose in his phone, headphones blasting, and workbooks abandoned all over the table.

"That's not what I needed to hear," Lorelai replied.

Luke shrugged and shut the register.

"You're my husband, my spouse, my rock! You're supposed to be the guy talking me off the ledge, not throwing me over it!"

"There was no throwing and no ledge. I'm being honest and open with you."

"Don't throw that therapy jive at me, mister."

"Again, I'm not throwing a damn thing," Luke said as he poured her a cup of coffee. Lorelai picked up the mug and sniffed it.

"Did you just give me a cup of decaf?"

"It's 9 o'clock."

"It's poison!"

"Look, you can sit here and yell at me for trying to keep you from bouncing off the walls at 3 am but you still have to go check on your mom."

Lorelai slapped her hands over her ears, "Ugh, stop it. I'm being very good at not panicking and you're making me panic. Don't ruin this for me. Maybe she's just trying to be more independent, you know? Brew her own potions, write her own evil spells."

Luke rolled his eyes. "You're being bad at not panicking and very good at being annoying. If you don't go over there now, you're gonna go crazy later and you'll burn the house down and I'll have to burn the diner down and James will live on the streets. Do you want that?"

"No," Lorelai said with a pout, "I paid a lot of money for that house. Why do I have to run after her every time? No matter what she does, I'm the bad guy and I always feel bad and run after her like an idiot."

"Hey," Luke said, giving her shoulder a rub, "Remember was Esther said? You shouldn't beat yourself up for having negative emotions. You feel the way you feel. It's natural."

"Why has therapy turned you into a super husband and turned me into a sweaty mess with mommy-issues?"

"If I make you Belgian Waffles will you stop with the moaning?" Luke asked.

Lorelai gasped. "Waffles at night? From the man who is a slave to the arbitrary designations of breakfast foods and dinner foods?"

"Do you want 'em or not?"

"Yes please."

"I want waffles too," James said as he ran up to the counter.

"Nuh-uh, these are my nighttime waffles, reserved for people who are having a hard time. Break your arm or something to qualify."

Luke crossed his arms, "Do _not_ do that."


End file.
